Fluff and stuff
by Quiet Time
Summary: Various snippets of fluffy Janto that have been lurking in my mind or on my hard drive waiting for a plot. Characters and concept belong to the BBC.
1. Just the way you are

**Just a little piece of valentines fluff. Hope you enjoy.  
**For any of you who read my other stuff, this was chopped out of 'Torchwood don't have holidays' due to extreme fluffiness which didn't really move the story on, but I liked it anyway, so here it is.

* * *

Jack grinned at the string of oaths coming from the direction of the bedroom. His evil plan was working perfectly. Ianto was frazzled enough that he definitely wouldn't know what day it was, let alone what time.

They'd been chasing Weevils until 3am and Jack had decided Ianto was going to catch up on sorely needed sleep. The rest of the team could help Starbucks meet its daily quota. It might make them appreciate Ianto a bit more if they had to drink substandard coffee.

The sound of running water drew Jack towards the bathroom. "Don't panic, Ianto," he called. "We've got plenty of time."

Ianto's head emerged from the shower, stubbornly not followed by the rest of him. "You unplugged the alarm clock," he accused.

"I did," Jack agreed. "And I've already told the others we're having the morning off, barring the world actually starting to end. So," he paused suggestively, "No reason to rush through your shower."

The head withdrew, without so much as an invitation for Jack to join him. The evil plan was falling in a heap. Jack trudged back into the kitchen to work on his strategy.

Ianto emerged eventually. Wearing, Jack was pleased to see, jeans and a T-shirt. Not Jack's favorite jeans, unfortunately, the ones that hugged his hips _just _the right way, but at least he wasn't suited up already. Casual clothes were a good sign. Now if he could just get Ianto back out of them Jack's morning would be perfect.

"I take it this means we've got time for a proper breakfast," Ianto said, with every sign of happiness. And no sign at all that he'd noticed the eyebrows or the hopeful leer. He owed Jack for the alarm clock, Ianto reminded himself, as he watched Jack's face fall. Jack didn't bother hiding his expressions around Ianto anymore, which was significant in a way that probably shouldn't be explored before breakfast.

Still, a proper breakfast. No donuts, no chocolate-filled croissant eaten in the SUV. Visions of porridge swam in his head. Real porridge, cooked slowly, the way it should be, instead of that ready-in-one-minute gunk. With raisins and possibly a sprinkle of cinnamon. Even the Healthy Eating pyramid would approve of that sort of breakfast.

Jack's face brightened as a thought struck. "Pancakes?" he said hopefully.

Ianto chuckled. "Just what I was going to suggest," he agreed, because by now he was regretting his grumpy reaction on waking. No porridge, then. No healthy breakfast. Nothing much to be done except watch his resolution to eat better fall in a crumpled heap before the first hurdle.

"I'll help," Jack offered. The eager expression on Jack's face reconciled Ianto to the loss of the porridge, even to the disaster area that his kitchen would become. Or maybe it was _their_ kitchen. A slightly scary concept he didn't really want to investigate right now. Or ever. Jack's stance on labels was infectious.

"I'll make up the batter, you fry," Ianto decided. "And don't look at me like that, Jack. You are _never _sifting anything in this kitchen again."

-XXX-

Jack poured maple syrup over his stack with a lavish hand before glancing over at Ianto. More specifically, at Ianto's plate. One lonely pancake, rolled around something that looked suspiciously – healthy. Jack sighed. Indulgent breakfast and healthy just didn't mix. He poked Ianto's solitary pancake experimentally with his knife.

"Yoghurt?" he demanded.

"And berries," Ianto added, eating a mouthful. Didn't even have the decency to drip anything on his chin.

Jack looked at his own plate. It was a vision worthy of a magazine advert. On his plate rested a towering stack of fluffy golden pancakes with a viscous waterfall of maple syrup flowing down their sides. He sighed. "You're ruining this for me, Ianto."

Ianto dropped his eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Jack eyed him with sudden suspicion. "What's going on?" he demanded. "You ordered vegetarian pizza last night and now you're onto fruit and yoghurt." His gaze sharpened and something that couldn't be panic fluttered in his chest. "Is something wrong? Are you sick? Has Owen said …."

Jack's tirade cut off mid-sentence as a blush colored Ianto's cheeks, spreading enchantingly down into his neck. Jack clamped down on the impulse to investigate how much further the blush would spread –with and without further encouragement - and focused his thoughts back onto the matter at hand.

"What's wrong?" he repeated.

Ianto mumbled something. Possibly in Welsh.

"Ianto?"

"My jeans don't fit," Ianto burst out, head hanging. "Those ones you like."

Jack laughed. "Is that why you aren't wearing them? I thought that was payback for the alarm clock."

Ianto placed his knife and fork carefully onto his plate. "It's not funny." he said, still not looking up. "I tried to put them on, and I couldn't. The….the button wouldn't close. Or the zip. They're too tight."

Jack gaped at him, still trying to work out why this was such a huge admission. "So buy some new ones," he suggested. "I could help you choose." Now that, Jack thought dreamily, absently shoveling a forkful of sticky pancake into his mouth, was one of his better ideas. He could just picture himself sitting in a changing room, watching Ianto undressing several times in the space of minutes, in between modeling ever-more-snug pieces of denim. The stuff that dreams were made of, indeed.

Ianto's red-faced humiliation punctured the daydream.

"What's so bad about needing new jeans?" Jack demanded, still way out of his depth. It wasn't as though Ianto couldn't afford them. He happily spent a small fortune on tailor-made suits. What was the big deal about maybe needing a larger size…..oh. Right. Twenty-first century body image issues. Crap. Crap that needed to be dealt with firmly.

"Ianto," Jack said, marshalling the combined authority of boss and…um… whatever he was that might be undefined but definitely gave him a stake in what Ianto's body looked like. "Don't you dare go on a diet."

"I'm putting on weight," Ianto hissed, face still burning. "It's not just the jeans, it's…"

"About bloody time," Jack shot back. "I've got permanent bruises on my hipbones, and you gotta admit that's a bit of a feat."

Ianto blinked, slowly, the way he did when his mind was working too fast for the rest of him to catch up.

"But you….we…I…" he began. Damn, he was cute when he was flustered. Jack grinned.

"I mean, look at you, Jack, you've got a bloody perfect six pack. And I've got…..I've got a... a muffin top." Maybe, Ianto thought hopefully, the Rift would open and swallow him, complete with insecurities that he_ never_ should have confessed to. Then again, the Rift never could be counted on to do anything useful.

Jack made a huge deal out of peeling his T-shirt away from this abdomen. "This?" he asked innocently.

"That," Ianto confirmed, swallowing hard at the mere sight. Damn it, he was worse than Pavlov's dog. "Abs you could bounce a coin off," he added huskily, wondering if it was biologically possible to blush any redder. His face probably matched the strawberries inside his pancake.

Jack grinned. "Wanna know a secret?"

"Not really," Ianto answered, dragging his eyes back to his neglected, relatively healthy breakfast, and noticing that the yoghurt was making his pancake soggy.

"It's not natural," Jack admitted. He leaned closer. "But if you tell Owen that, I'll have to feed you both Retcon."

Ianto merely blinked at him, his mouth shaping into a perfect cartoon-like 'O' of astonishment. The blush was fading though, which was progress.

"I had a makeover," Jack admitted. "Just before the whole 'fixed point in time' experience. So it kinda goes back, y'know? Only not exactly. Like copying from a copy."

Too much information. Ianto's eyes were glazing over. "It doesn't matter," Jack said briskly, tucking his T-shirt back in. "What matters is you don't need to lose weight. Especially not for me."

More blinking, but this time the eyes behind the blink refocused. "I don't?" Ianto asked.

"You don't," Jack confirmed. He grinned broadly. "I like you just the way you are."

Ianto looked suddenly adorably boyish. "Really?"

"You want me to sing the rest of it?"

"Please don't. Just pass me the maple syrup. And another pancake."

Jack pried one from the bottom of his stack. "Made this one especially for you," he said proudly.

Ianto gazed in bemusement at the oddly shaped object on his plate. "Is that a…."

Jack swiveled the plate around. Yes, it was. A perfectly heart-shaped pancake.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Ianto."

**And happy Valentines Day to all of you, too.**


	2. When you say nothing at all

**This little snippet began life as a birthday gift for SirCat. It's grown a bit since then.**

Set during Gwen's 'Who was your last snog' game in Countrycide.

* * *

"It was Lisa," Ianto announced, effectively killing the game that had already become awkward. At least everyone was uncomfortable now, instead of just Toshiko.

Ianto hadn't felt much of anything through the protective fog he lived in since Lisa died – no, since Lisa was killed. But he felt for Toshiko.

Toshiko was nice. Toshiko was kind. Toshiko hadn't tried to make him _talk. _

Toshiko's undemanding silence eroded the fog with the gentle persistence of rainwater dripping on a rock.

Toshiko understood that the certainty of saving someone you love far outweighed the mere possibility of destroying the rest of the world. Even when the saving became less certain and the possibility became more than possible.

Ianto could feel compassion for Toshiko. He might even feel fondness for Toshiko, eventually.

And Ianto could feel Jack watching him. Again.

-XXX-

Jack didn't hear the rest of the game. He was lost in the past. Recent, significant, bewildering past. Hearing the sound of what used to be Lisa rampaging through the Hub. Feeling the weight of Ianto lying limp and unresponsive in his arms. Refusing to believe limp and unresponsive meant death. Death wasn't permanent anyway. Jack was proof of that.

He could still feel it, if he tried. The clammy lips beneath his warming with returning life. The intense and unexpected surge of joy as the body in his lap shuddered with the reluctant return of the wandering spirit. He'd done that. Jack Harkness, eternally cursed with life, spreading a little of it around.

Obviously that didn't qualify as a 'snog'. But Jack could fix that. Given time, and Jack had nothing if not time.

-XXX-

Ianto felt the weight of Jack's eyes on him. He didn't want to look up, he tried not to look up, but it didn't work. His head drifted upwards, magnetized by the blue gaze that someone managed to chill and burn at the same time. What he saw there was intriguing and terrifying all at once, and he couldn't meet the gaze for long.

Jack watched the icy blue eyes lock with his own, watched them thaw for such a brief instant that he might have imagined it. Except that he hadn't.

_I may not have been your last snog, Jack thought, but I'll be your next._


	3. Need you now

**This was going to be a songfic, but it grew in a different direction. Hence the rising in the rating!**

**For Brionyjae, for getting me addicted to the song.**

**

* * *

**

"Jack needs me."

Owen laughed. Owen made a comment about part time shags. Didn't hurt, though, because it was so far off the mark as to be funny. Owen had no idea.

Ianto knew Jack needed him. He'd told him so. So many times.

_I need you to forgive me._ The first one, the weirdest one. Screamed into his face somewhere during Ianto's suspension after Lisa. It didn't make any sense. He couldn't understand why Jack wanted his forgiveness, let alone _needed_ it.

It was something to think about, during the sleepless nights that followed. And finally, on the edge of sleep, he remembered Jack actually saying Sorry, _that_ night. Apologizing, before he'd taken aim at Lisa for the last time. Somehow that cracked the walls of grief Ianto had hidden behind for so long he'd forgotten when he built them. Numbing, walls thick as steel, as safe as a secret, shattering under the weight of knowing that, sometimes, being Torchwood meant having to commit acts you'd be sorry for. That you were sorry for before you did them. It was difficult to keep blaming Jack after that. And when he'd forgiven Jack, somehow he'd forgiven himself as well. Still wasn't sure how that worked.

So many different types of need. Different needs. Better needs.

_I need you._ Whispered against his neck in the bunker, lips slick against the sheen of sweat, stopwatch lying forgotten on the floor, after they'd laid Suzie to rest for the second time. _I need you to remind me that life is more important than death. I need you to make me live, Ianto, make me feel alive. Make me want to live. Make me stop hating life. _Big ask, he'd thought at the time. Apparently he'd accomplished it though. Which was kind of flattering. Ianto liked being needed.

_I need you here when I come back_. Mumbled into his stomach, hiding from the world when death rejected Jack yet again.

He'd been scared when Jack died after Abaddon, but in the deepest, most unselfish place in Ianto's heart he tried to be glad Jack might have finally achieved the mortality he wanted so desperately. Jack was so tired of being alive, of losing everyone.

"I would have come back faster, if it'd been you sitting with me," Jack told him later.

"I know," Ianto answered. "But I thought….I thought you wanted to go."

"Not as long as you're here to come back to."

_I need you to wake up._ Over and over, with a voice ragged from overuse, filling the silence between the beep of the monitors. Selfish bastard. It was so nice, floating here above that battered body in the bed. No pain. No Weevils. No Weevils with their sharp teeth slicing through the skin of his neck, seeking the pulsing blood beneath. Even if he came back from this, he'd never feel Jack kiss him in that spot, the one just below his jaw, the one that was all skin graft now, no nerve endings anymore. But the voice, and the need, tugged him back. So he went. And he woke. It was nice to be needed.

It was nice to be needed by Jack.

-XXX-

"Owen calls me your part-time shag," Ianto said, warm in a nest of sheet and duvet, safe in a tangle of limbs. "In my dreams, apparently."

Jack didn't even raise his head from its comfortable pillow, otherwise known as Ianto's shoulder. His laughter sounded soft and low, like distant thunder, felt more than heard, a counterpoint to Ianto's heartbeat.

"In your dreams," Jack said lazily, listening to the hearbeat accelerate beneath his wandering hands. "You're only part-time in your dreams."

A flurry of movement and Jack loomed above him, smiling the smile that turned his bones to water.

"Dreams where you actually get a full night's sleep," Jack concluded, voice low, eyes laughing. "Unlike tonight. Unlike now." Eyes closed, words muffled against skin, uttered between kisses. "Need you. Need you now, Ianto."

After which there was no more talking. At least not any coherent sentences.

And they wondered why Ianto fell asleep in the archives sometimes.

-XXX-

Ianto knows Jack loves him. But for Jack, that's nothing. Jack loves everyone. But he _needs _Ianto.

And that's enough for both of them.


	4. Heatwave

**Hello All! This is a bit longer than a snippet ... Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"Global warning," Owen said darkly, "Has a lot to answer for."

It hadn't rained at all for weeks. And there'd been no decent rain for months. Now it was the middle of summer, and it was hot.

"This is Wales," Owen continued. "It's supposed to be wet."

"Saxon's fault," Ianto pointed out knowledgeably. "The Archangel network accelerated the greenhouse effect."

"Bloody politicians," Owen grumbled.

Gwen fanned herself with a report she was supposed to be reading. "Shouldn't an underground base be cool?"

Tosh looked up from her terminal, a frown creasing her face. "The generator's failing," she announced. "I've had to kill the air-conditioning."

"Bloody Torchwood," Owen said morosely.

Which just about summed it up.

-XXX-

There was an almighty groan from the depths of the Hub. The lights flickered, went out, came back on.

"That was the generator," Tosh announced. "Someone should check it."

She waited. No-one offered. Tosh looked hopefully at Ianto, saw him brush his hands along his Armani trousers, and couldn't do it to him.

"I'll go," Tosh sighed.

After half an hour of crawling around inside the generator, Tosh announced that that it was on the verge of overheating and had closed down as a safety measure.

"It'll auto-restart when it's ready," she said, crawling back out of the access shaft. "Nothing to be done until then." Ianto handed her a glass, in which ice tinkled.

Owen didn't tackle Tosh for the glass. He should've got a medal for that.

"What about the backup?" Jack demanded.

"We're _on _backup," Tosh explained wearily, wiping sweaty hair back from her eyes and swiping ineffectually at a smear of grease on her T-shirt. "I've had to reroute all the power to keeping the monitors running and maintaining the atmosphere in the cells."

There was a general groan. "Otherwise we'd have to let them all out," Tosh concluded. There was a general shudder. And a mournful cawing overhead.

"Speaking of which," Ianto mused, "We're going to have to release Myfanwy. She's not coping very well." Which took them back to the groans. The heat had already turned the pterodactyl grumpy and uncoordinated. They were all going to get scratched.

Jack got to the loft first and seized the handle that cranked open the hole in the roof Myfanwy used as her exit. Which meant the rest of them got the privilege of herding a grumpy leather chicken through the opening. A huge, grumpy leather chicken, with claws.

Time ticked on. Owen treated the scratches encountered during Myfanwy's release. Nothing serious. She'd been so relieved at escaping the heat she'd only bothered with token swipes. And they'd stacked a cryo-chamber full of dark chocolate to coax her back in later. Couldn't risk having it melt.

"Get us a coffee, would you Teaboy?" Owen demanded, fairly politely, for him. "A cold one," he added.

"Frappe," Ianto corrected.

"Same to you, with bells on."

Gwen giggled. "That's what it's called Owen. A cold coffee. With ice. Is a frappe." Gwen's forehead was beaded with sweat and her eyes unfocused as she absently unfastened a button.

"Crushed ice," Toshiko added dreamily. Owen scowled. A Hub full of sweaty men and both women were fantasizing about coffee.

"And I can't make you a frappe," Ianto continued, with lamentable smugness. "Because we're on backup power, and the blender would be too much of a drain."

Owen sighed. He was hot. He was annoyed. He suspected he stank. Teaboy was smirking at him. And Jack was leering at Teaboy, who'd only loosened his tie, for God's sake.

If he was in a better mood, Owen would have grudgingly admired Jack's restraint, given Captain Charisma was suffering drought conditions too. And not for lack of effort, either.

In spite off all Jack's effort, Teaboy had kept him at arms length since he got back from his trip with that Doctor of his. No more than Jack deserved, after deserting them that way, but Owen hadn't thought Teaboy had so much backbone. Maybe prolonged exposure to those pheromones gave him some sort of resistance. Or maybe he wasn't as much of a wimp as Owen liked to think.

"Sod off then," Owen suggested, in the interests of balancing any lingering positive thoughts about the Teaboy.

"Can't do that either," Ianto answered, with despicable cheerfulness. "At least, not without help. The doors have gone manual. It'll take all of us to get them open."

Owen groaned. Tosh giggled. The sound made Owen think about ice tinkling against a glass. Damn it, now he was fantasizing, too. About ice cubes.

Bloody Torchwood.

-XXX-

Clothes began to disappear. Jackets were a distant memory. Gwen's shirt was now unbuttoned to the limits of decency. Tosh had sweated so much inside her modest T-shirt that it was sticking to her skin in all the right places. Owen didn't know who to perve on first.

It would have been an ideal situation if he wasn't so aware of the fact that his own T-shirt was sticky from sweat too– and the sweat smelled _bad_. He didn't want to get close enough to either of the girls for the sight to be ruined by the scent.

He didn't want to get too close to the boys either. Bloody pheromones.

Jack had stripped down to a singlet. He'd only been prevented from losing the trousers, too when Owen threatened to cool him off by locking him in a cryo-chamber. One without the chocolate. Even the Teaboy had lost his jacket and vest and rolled up his sleeves. Owen devoutly hoped it was sweat on Jack's chin, not drool, but he wasn't getting close enough to find out.

None of them had done anything for the last thirty minutes except swig water and pant.

"Right," Owen announced decisively. "I'm calling this. Health hazard. Everyone out until the generator recovers."

"No arguments from me," Jack agreed. "Tosh, reroute any alerts to my wristband and let's all get out of here."

It took all of their efforts and the application of an alien lock pick to get the cog door open, but they managed it. There was a general stampede for the outside. Where it was still hot, but at least the air was fresh. And moving. Owen had never been so appreciative of a sea breeze.

"Everyone got their phones?" Jack called. Nods all around.

"OK, then, off you go. Be back in the morning unless you hear from me before."

"Pub?" Owen asked hopefully.

Gwen slid her phone back into her pocket. "Rhys is picking me up," she informed them. "In a refrigerated truck! How I love that man!"

"The way to a woman's heart is through her ice-chest," Ianto observed, as they watched Gwen scamper off to her rendezvous with the ice man of her dreams.

"Pub," Owen repeated, looking at the rest of them.

"I'm heading home," Ianto announced, making no move.

Jack scuffed the pavement. Owen didn't bother asking again. Where Teaboy went, Jack would follow.

Which left….

"Hey, Tosh, how about you buy me a frappe?" Owen demanded.

Tosh smiled. "How about _you_ buy _me _one?"

Owen grinned. "Works for me."

And with that, Jack and Ianto were alone on the Plass. Jack shifted restlessly. Things had been tentative between him and Ianto since he'd gotten back, and John Hart hadn't helped in the slightest.

And here they were with a free afternoon. And Jack was temporarily homeless. Was he actually hoping for a sympathy invite to Ianto's place? Yes, he was. Hoping, not assuming, because he didn't assume anything where Ianto was concerned, not any more. It had hurt Ianto more than Jack realized when he'd left with the Doctor. Earning his trust back was an ongoing battle. One that it looked like he might be winning.

Jack was _really_ hoping for a win today. Ianto had air-conditioning. And a ceiling fan in the bedroom. Not that Jack had gotten the chance to view that ceiling fan from his preferred position since he'd been back. But he was slightly surprised to find he didn't mind, not really.

Ianto looked up and smiled. Jack's stomach did that flip-flop thing which hadn't happened to him in a hundred years and it suddenly didn't matter whether this afternoon involved Ianto's bed, as long as it involved Ianto.

This 'taking it slow' caper had a few things going for it, after all.

He hadn't actually spent any high-quality time in Ianto's bed since getting back. He had, however, spent some very high-quality time in his doorway. Good night kisses at the end of their dates. Damned _good _goodnight kisses. The type where you decide that, if this is all there's going to be tonight, then it's gonna be awesome. And it was.

The dates had been nice too. They were dating. Jack Harkness, doing the 21st century thing and enjoying it. Dinner, movies, walking and talking. Lots of talking. Ianto would never again be justified in accusing Jack of not taking an interest in his life. And he _was _interested. Jack was busy addressing every regret he'd had hanging from those chains for a year.

And what a surprise it had been to realize not a single one of those regrets involved anything physical.

Recently the kisses had developed into make-out sessions on the sofa. Things were progressing. And now, here they were, with an expected afternoon off. And in this moment, Jack felt as though the whole universe was holding its breath.

-XXX-

Ianto couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as Jack watched him with a hopeful expression.

If this happened before Jack left, he wouldn't have waited for an invitation. He'd have led the way back to Ianto's flat, opened the door with the key that was supposedly only for emergency use, and assumed he was welcome. And he would have been right. But this was better. So much better.

Ianto still wasn't convinced he was gay, but he was beginning to suspect he was turning into a girl.

It started as a matter of pride. However gorgeous Jack was, however good he smelled, Ianto was determined not to shatter his dignity – or what remained of it – by falling straight back into Jack's expectant arms.

It started off as 'making him work for it'. Showing Jack he wasn't needy, wasn't a pushover. It started as that - but now Ianto had to admit it had evolved into something else. He was playing hard to get, and loving it.

The bewildering behavior of the girls at school suddenly made sense. It was fun being chased. Playing hard to get _worked._ How about that? Mothers were right. Not that he'd been playing, not consciously anyway. He was just trying to protect himself from being hurt again.

Heaven help him, he _was_ turning into a girl.

But ever since Jack came back from-wherever he'd been with that Doctor he'd treated Ianto differently. It used to be a string of one-night stands. Ianto had known, and accepted, that he was nothing more than a willing body, conveniently there, easily replaced when it wasn't available.

But it was more than that now. Jack treated him as though he actually mattered, as if it would make a difference in Jack's life if Ianto wasn't there any more. They'd gone on dates. Real dates. Dinners and movies and late night conversations that didn't end in bed.

Kisses goodnight at the door, for goodness sake, with Jack thanking him for a lovely evening and leaving. And when Ianto finally weakened and invited Jack in, the steamy make-out sessions ended in smiles and laughter and Jack excusing himself politely – and regretfully – and heading back to the Hub. Probably straight to a cold shower, because that's where Ianto went as soon as the door closed.

But today Jack couldn't go back to the Hub. Today Jack had nowhere else to go. Today, Ianto didn't _want _Jack to go anywhere else.

As much fun as the game had been, maybe it was time it ended.

Ianto smiled shyly, shifted awkwardly. "Want to come back to mine?"

The words echoed across the empty Plass.

Jack smiled so hard his cheeks hurt. "Thought you'd never ask," he said lightly, threading his arm through Ianto's and entwiing their hands, feeling something that had nothing to do with lust spreading up from his toes when Ianto didn't try to pull away.

And that something told him there was still no rush.

"How about I buy you something to eat first?" Jack offered. "We haven't had lunch."

Ianto smiled softly. "I'd like that." But two paces later, he stopped. He really didn't want to play anymore. He wanted to know if this was more than a game, and there was only one way to find out.

Jack stopped, too, face creased in concern. "Something wrong?"

"You don't have to do this." Ianto waved the hand Jack wasn't holding in a gesture that could have meant anything. "All this. I mean, it's been nice, it really has, but…..I don't need it."

Jack laughed and pulled Ianto into his arms. "I know you don't need it. But Jones, Ianto Jones. You deserve it."

Ianto rested his head against the broad shoulder. Ianto Jones, cuddling with another man in the middle of the Plass. He _was _a girl, and he didn't care. It wasn't a game.

Jack nuzzled his cheek against soft hair curling adorably from the damp heat. The year in the Valiant with all its regrets drifted back into the recesses of his mind where it would only live in nightmares. Nightmares that Ianto would chase away.

____

_Oh yeah, Ianto Jones, you deserve it._

_And so do I._

_

* * *

_

A bit long and wandering, I know, but this was began as a multi-chaptered fic (in which it is actually Jack who would've turned into a girl) which had to stop because it was getting very complicated and I have too many others on the go! May still finish it one day...if S4 doesn't send all my muses into therapy.

**Thanks for reading.**


	5. More than this

**Slight warning with this one, it's 'stuff' not 'fluff'. Angst, mostly. Totally inspired by the song by Roxy Music, as you'll see if you care to look up the lyrics.**

Jack was bored.

After a hectic week where there'd scarcely been time between alerts for the team to re-stock, let alone re-lax, there was a lull. A welcome lull, to begin with. It was great to have time to catch their breath. To begin with. Now it was boring.

After breaking up the third bickering match of the day, Jack decided he'd had enough. They all deserved some time off, anyway.

The mere thought brought a smile to Jack's lips. He hadn't had any quality Ianto-time for quite a while. The smile broadened as he considered the many ways he could take advantage of this unexpected time off.

"Early mark," Jack yelled, just in time to prevent the launch of Owen's next paper aeroplane squadron. "Everyone go home."

The sound of computers logging off was reminiscent of crickets on a summer evening, and the whoosh as the team rushed for the door provided the memory of summer breezes. Nice. It put Jack in mind of snug bathing suits and rubbing sunscreen into pale skin – from which his mind leapt onto working out how he could crank the Hub's heating up enough to turn this particular fantasy into reality. As long as Ianto was agreeable, of course, and why wouldn't he be?

Jack returned to his office to await the arrival the last coffee of the day – and the Welshman bearing it – with this mind elaborating on every detail. Yeah, this was going to be nice.

The knock on his door brought Jack out of his daydream. He looked up, and his automatic smile of greeting spread, became genuine. Jack stretched lazily, releasing tension, accepting that the work day was over. "Hello Ianto."

Ianto placed Jack's coffee mug gently on the desk. But he hadn't brought his own mug, and he remained standing, and the threads of his daydream spun away as Jack's senses went on alert.

"Is there anything you need before I leave, Sir?" Ianto enquired politely.

Jack leaned back in his chair, swinging his feet up to rest on his desk. Playing hard to get, was he? Oh well, Ianto was worth a bit of extra effort.

"We agreed on Jack, after hours," he chided gently.

There was the patented Jones eye-roll. "Is there anything you need before I leave, _Jack_?"

"I could think of a few things," Jack answered, eyes blatantly roaming the suited figure before him, deciding which pair of swimming trunks would look best. No contest, really. It had to be the red ones.

Ianto arched an eyebrow, which somehow killed the anticipation coursing through Jack's veins. His feet hit the floor with a thud and his smile faded. "You're really leaving, huh?"

"You said 'everyone go home'. I assume that included me," Ianto said coolly, wishing Jack didn't do the kicked-puppy impression quite so well. "I've got a long drive ahead of me and I'd like to get an early start, if that's OK."

In a different scenario, Jack's expression would have been funny. "I just thought…" he stammered.

"You assumed," Ianto corrected. "If you'd _thought_, you'd have remembered me telling you it's my sister's birthday today."

If Jack hadn't taught himself not to blush, he would have. "Sorry," he mumbled, searching his memory, and remembering Ianto asking him to note something in his diary.

Ianto sighed. He didn't really have the right to be irritated. As Jack had taken pains to point out several times in the past, they weren't a couple.

"It doesn't matter, Jack. I'll be off then, OK?"

Jack didn't answer. He was busy perusing his diary. Yep, there it was.

"I did note it down," Jack said triumphantly. "I just had the diary on the wrong page. Planning for next week," he added, somewhat virtuously.

"Sure, Jack," Ianto answered, failing to be impressed. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Ianto?"

Ianto turned wearily at the door. He'd missed family events for Rift alerts, and he'd never complained. But he was damned if he'd miss out on Rhiannon's birthday party just because Jack wanted a shag and couldn't be stuffed trawling the bars. And he was equally damned if he'd let himself consider how it would feel if Jack wanted him to stay for a more significant reason than convenient sex. Ianto had promised himself, when this thing with Jack began, that he wouldn't ruin it for himself by hoping for more than what was on offer.

It was what it was, Ianto reminded himself, and he'd agreed to it, and if he wanted more then he'd have to find someone willing to give it. And he'd be triply damned, if there was such a thing, if Ianto let himself listen to the whisper inside his head that told him he was in too deep to find the idea of anyone else appealing.

"It's her thirtieth, Jack," Ianto said firmly. "It's important."

If Ianto hadn't known better, he'd have sworn Jack looked guilty. "I don't expect you to stay," Jack said, attempting a smile. He was still trying to work out why Ianto asked him to note this in his diary, and the only answer Jack could come up with did strange things to his stomach. Especially given that he'd forgotten. "Just…..um…I wasn't supposed to be coming with you, or something. Was I?" And Jack's gut went from uneasy to clenched at the sudden realization that he wouldn't mind if Ianto said Yes.

"Of course not." Ianto actually sounded scandalized.

Jack pouted. Ianto didn't need to be _that _horrified by the notion.

"You thought I'd asked you to meet my family?" Ianto asked. A chuckle started somewhere in his chest, and forced itself out before he could stop it. "And you thought you'd agreed?"

"It's just, well, you asked me to put it in my diary," Jack blustered.

Ianto chuckled again. "That was so you wouldn't try to make me stay back," he said. "Which failed miserably. And honestly, Jack, if I _had_ asked, which I wouldn't, and you'd agreed, which _you _wouldn't – hell, I'd have known you weren't paying attention."

The laughter faded away as Ianto left the Hub, leaving Jack alone, and disturbed, and not sure why.

Or perhaps not wanting to admit why.

Even to himself.

The cog rattled closed behind Ianto, and he wondered whether his laughter had sounded as forced to Jack's ears as it did to his own. He wasn't sure whether he was trying to convince Jack the misunderstanding was amusing, or if perhaps he was just trying to fool himself.

Ianto shook his head and pushed it all to the corner of his mind where he stored all of his impossible hopes. The place where any half-formed wishes for something 'more' with Jack belonged.

Along with all his broken dreams of a normal life with Lisa.

**Silly boys. There is a fluffy/angsty sequel in progress.**


	6. Just like starting over

**This is ridiculously sweet, please monitor your sugar levels as you read. Enjoy.  
**Set after KKBB but before Meat because Jack hasn't reverted back to being a twit yet.  
(Who am I kidding, it's probably OOC, but it's fun anyway, at least I hope so)

**

* * *

**

Tosh poked her head out from beneath the latest discarded shirt. "You might consider watching your aim," she reproved. "And start passing me hangers so I can put these back when you're finished."

Ianto stopped frowning at the mirror long enough to cast an apologetic smile over his shoulder.

"I just can't decide what to wear," he explained.

Tosh tried not to laugh, but the temptation was too great. "I kind of noticed that," she spluttered.

Ianto threw the next shirt quite deliberately so that it covered her head entirely. "You're supposed to be moral support," he grumbled.

Tosh lay the shirt aside and moved from lounging on the bed to offering a hug. "This any better?"

Ianto rested his head on her shoulder. His sigh ruffled her hair.

"I know I'm being ridiculous," he mumbled.

"First date jitters," Tosh said with understanding. "Mind you, it's been so long since I've had a first date to jitter about that I have to say I'm a bit envious."

Ianto retracted his head with an audible snap of vertebrae. "Jealous that Jack asked me out?" he said incredulously. "I didn't think you….you and Jack?"

Tosh patted his back. "Of course not, silly boy." Tosh was the only person, apart from his sister, perhaps, who could get away with calling Ianto any variation of 'boy' without getting the killer eyebrows and week of decaf, at the very least.

"No," Tosh continued. "It'd just be nice to have someone to get first-date jitters about, is all." She gave him a final tight hug and pulled away.

"If Jack finds us like this you know he's going to start talking about threesomes," Tosh warned. "And that really isn't first-date material, so let's get you dressed."

Ianto turned back to his wardrobe with a sigh. "I knew I should've bought a new one," he grumbled. "He's seen me in all of these."

Tosh managed to hold the laughter back, that time. She didn't even point out that Jack had probably helped Ianto_ out_ of all his shirts, as well. That wouldn't help in the least.

That was before, anyway. In the time when whatever was growing between Jack and Ianto was shrouded beneath layers of deception. But Jack was back, and Jack was different now. And during the months Jack was away Tosh had watched Ianto grow from the broken shell Lisa left behind into this strong, confident, amazing young man she was proud to call her best friend. Only tonight the confidence seemed to have taken a bit of a holiday. It was kind of cute.

They were starting over, her best friend and her savior. Not many people got the chance for a fresh start, and Tosh was determined that nothing was going to ruin this for them. Especially not a shirt.

Tosh moved towards the wardrobe and rummaged. She emerged triumphantly, brandishing a hangerful of dark red silk. "What about this one? You know he likes you in red."

Ianto held the shirt up against himself and smiled at the feel of the thick silk against his skin. "It's nice," he agreed. "But I dunno, if I wore red wouldn't that look like I'm trying too hard?"

Tosh waved her arms. "But you are!"

Ianto slumped onto the bed. "Yeah, but _he_ doesn't need to know that, does he?"

Tosh removed the shirt from Ianto's lap and draped it carefully across the rail at the end of the bed before dropping down beside him.

"Ianto?" she said softly.

Ianto looked up at the change of tone. "What?" he asked, almost warily.

"Not that I'm anything like a sage in the mysteries of dating," Tosh said. "But, well it seems to me that everything between you two so far has been pretty much fake. You hiding Lisa and Jack hiding, well, everything I suppose. And it didn't turn out that well. So why not give honesty a try, huh?"

Ianto stared into the dark eyes that looked back at him steadily. "Why not?" he agreed.

He lifted the red shirt and slid his arms into the sleeves, appraising himself carefully in the mirror as he fastened the buttons. "Yeah, this one then. Fly the flag. The worst that can happen is I look needy and make a fool of myself. That's nothing new for me, is it?"

And on that less than auspicious note, the doorbell rang.

Ianto let out a shriek that he would later refuse to admit was girlish. "He's early, damn him."

Tosh leaped for the door. "The striped tie," she ordered. "I'll keep him busy until you're ready."

Jack was leaning on the doorbell for the second time in under a minute when the door opened.

"Oh, Toshiko. Hi." He should've realized she'd be here. Tosh would've made a great mother. Of the bear variety. Possibly tiger. Something wth claws, anyway.

"He'll be out soon," Toshiko announced. "Come in, have seat."

Jack settled on the sofa and fiddled with his tie, his cufflinks, the magazine on the table.

He was nervous. How _cute._ Tosh was at severe risk of choking. It'd been a long time since she'd gotten this much practice at holding in laughter. She'd never seen Jack so carefully groomed. His hair was so firmly gelled it reflected the light, and she highly suspected he was wearing a new shirt. Jack often wore blue, but Tosh was sure she hadn't seen him in that particular shade before. Darker than he usually wore. It brought out his eyes, as if they needed it.

"You look nice, Jack," Tosh said, trying valiantly for a soothing tone.

Jack inspected himself, sighed deeply, and returned to tugging at the tie that seemed intent on strangling him.

"Would you like some water?" Tosh asked. A tiny snuffle of laughter escaped against her will. "Or a sedative, perhaps?"

Jack dropped his hands into his lap, looking a beautifully turned-out picture of dejection.

"I've overdone it, haven't I?" he said mournfully. "He's going to think I'm desperate."

"Well, aren't you?" Tosh asked. Pointedly. Now she had déjà vu to deal with as well as the ache in her chest from holding back the constant threat of giggles. Hadn't she just had this conversation moments ago? They really were as bad as each other.

"That's not the point," Jack said, with a distinct note of huffiness. "I've got a reputation to maintain."

"And how's that working for you?" Tosh demanded. Dr Phil would've been proud.

Jack obviously didn't watch much daytime television. He appeared to be having one of those light-bulb moments. "Not so great," he admitted.

There was a faint creak as a door opened in the hallway and Ianto emerged. Looking stunning, Tosh thought, not that she was objective. But it appeared Jack thought so, too. Tosh's eyes flickered between the two men and she smiled softly at the way their Adam's apples jerked in concert as each drank in the sight of the other. It was _terribly_ sweet, especially given the way neither of them was looking at the other's clothes.

Owen would be retching at the sight.

Tosh crept out through the door Jack had forgotten to close behind him. She didn't bother with goodbyes. They wouldn't hear her. Wouldn't see her leave, either, lost in each other's eyes as they were.

They were going to be just fine.

**For any of you that happen to be reading BMH, you might like to know that this was planned as the first chapter of the sequel, which I'll likely never get around to writing...oh well, you never know.**


	7. Norwegian Wood

**Not sure where this came from, except I think I might have dreamed it. (Which is a terribly sad thing to admit, I know). Need I say, extreme fluff... **

* * *

Evelyn Brown, Evie to her friends, paused in her spiel about the new rental. Neither of the men was listening to her rhapsodizing about the features of Nordic pine floorboards anyway. A bit of a blow to the ego, that the two most gorgeous men Evie had ever seen in Cardiff only had eyes and ears for each other. And she was wearing her best suit, too.

"I'll just leave you to look around for a bit, shall I?" Evie offered. She'd been working in real estate long enough to recognize a futile effort when she was in the midst of one. The older man seemed fairly keen on the flat anyway, so it was probably in the nature of a strategic withdrawal when Evie left them to it and stepped out into the hall. She'd be within earshot if they called, and her phone was burning a path to her ear. It'd devastate the singletons of Cardiff when they heard that the gorgeous bloke from the tourist office was not only off the market, but hey girls, he was never really _on_ it to begin with. At least, not on our side.

She wasn't surprised about the one with the coat though, gorgeous as he was. Straight mean don't wear period military.

-XXX-

"I thought she'd never shut up," Jack grumbled. He followed Ianto into the master bedroom, which was as empty as the rest of the flat. Not that they'd have had a chance to use the bed if there _was_ one. As Ianto reminded him firmly when Jack saw the Jacuzzi, they were here on Torchwood business.

"She was just doing her job," Ianto said, with mild reproof. "If anyone was being annoying, it was you," he added, with the reproof more in evidence.

Jack stopped by the window. "Nice view," he commented. Then Ianto's words sank in. "What did I do this time?"

Ianto was busy unsnapping his briefcase. "You were a bit over the top," he said disapprovingly.

Jack shrugged and began pulling components out of the briefcase. "I'll put the safe together, you can start on the wires," he directed. "And I was just admiring the flat," he continued, slipping effortlessly out of boss-mode again. "I was supposed to be playing the part of potential tenant, wasn't I?" Not that he'd had to dredge for enthusiasm. It really was a nice place. Lots of room. Even Ianto was impressed by the kitchen. And the view from the roof had to be spectacular.

"It's not your enthusiasm for the flat I was referring to," Ianto answered, voice muffled by the fact that he was on his knees in the corner of the walk-in wardrobe, using a pair of pliers to tease some slender wires through from the other side of the wall.

"She was trying to chat you up," Jack said defensively. "So I might have been staking my claim. You got a problem with that?"

Ianto chuckled, the sound echoing in the empty space. Nice acoustics, too, Jack noted. If he could tease Ianto into singing again, it'd sound brilliant. Jack finished his project, which he was quite proud of. It looked exactly like the sort of safe people kept their valuables in at home, even if it only had three sides and weighed practically nothing. It was a perfect disguise for the surveillance equipment Ianto had installed.

Duty done, Jack moved closer to enjoy the view, which today was enhanced by pinstripes, and had its usual effect. Jack was slightly astonished to realise he was actually licking his lips, though that might be an attempt to contain the drool. It was true what they say, he reflected, the appetite _does _grow from what it's fed on.

"I have boundless enthusiasm for your charms, Ianto Jones," Jack said, voice dripping honey. He was quite impressed by his ability to string a sentence together, given the distraction. "And I rarely get the excuse to let it run rampant." An errant part of Jack's mind remembered the estate agent saying the floors were softwood and went on to wonder whether that might eliminate the risk of splinters. At which point a well-tuned instinct for self-preservation shrieked that Ianto was talking to him and Jack had better listen if he wanted the opportunity to further examine the splinters issue.

"We were in public," Ianto protested. "And at work. It was inappropriate, Jack."

No splinters in the near future then. Damn. Maybe they could come back. It really was a great flat. And it had a Jacuzzi.

"You know what she's going to think, don't you?" Ianto continued, in an aggrieved tone.

Jack turned on the puppy-dog eyes. "Are you ashamed of being with me, Ianto?"

Ianto snorted and decided to treat that as seriously as it deserved. Besides, this was his opportunity to use the line he'd been longing to say.

"Of course not, Jack," Ianto answered. He stood up, brushed carpet fluff off his knees and grinned at Jack from the depths of the wardrobe. "But I'm quite happy in the closet."

Jack groaned. "Quite possibly the worst joke you've ever made, Ianto."

"You're just jealous you didn't say it first," Ianto accused. "_I_ thought it was clever." Jack was fairly sure the drooping lower lip was a ploy, but he couldn't help kissing it all better anyway.

"Now get back to work," Jack ordered, drawing away reluctantly. "Before you find out first-hand how hard softwood floors really are."

-XXX-

The two men stood back and admired their handiwork. Well, Jack was admiring it. Ianto was eyeing it doubtfully.

"It looks perfect," Jack said, defensive of his project.

"Exactly," Ianto agreed. "So what if the next tenant decides to use it?"

It was a fair question, given that the fake safe looked remarkably close to the real thing. But the innocent grey box housed the business end of a series of tiny surveillance cameras in the flat on the other side of the wall. The occupant of which was currently sleeping off a substantial dose of Retcon.

The object of the surveillance was completely human, but the hitchhiker currently ensconced in his abdomen wasn't. Scans, however, had confirmed that not only did the parasite actually have beneficial properties, but removal would kill the host. They'd decided on remote monitoring instead, hence the current subterfuge.

Jack shook his head. "No one will bother. It's in an awkward spot. It's too small to be useful. No-one knows the combination. And there's no key. If anyone wants a safe they'll just buy another."

Ianto blinked at the torrent of words. "Or they could call a locksmith," he pointed out. Jack pouted.

Ianto sighed. He couldn't fight the pout. "I guess we'll know they've found it when the cameras die," he muttered.

"If you really think it's a problem," Jack said, in what Ianto considered a very odd voice. "We could just lease this place ourselves."

Ianto frowned. "Do we need another flat?"

"It's nice," Jack said defensively. "More room than your flat. A bigger bathroom. And it's walking distance from the Hub."

Ianto looked around as if he hadn't seen the place before. "Um, yeah, all that. But we've still got two safe houses unoccupied. We don't really need another, do we?"

Jack didn't answer. The silence stretched out. Ianto looked back at Jack enquiringly, only to find that Jack wasn't even looking at him. And might possibly be….no…was Jack actually blushing? Couldn't be. Jack didn't blush. Then again….

"Jack? Is something wrong?"

Jack sighed. "I didn't mean Torchwood," he explained to the knot of wood beneath his foot. "Or a safe house."

"You didn't?" Ianto would have said more, except there appeared to be something lodged in his throat, and he probably had it all wrong, anyway.

"Look, if you don't want to….that's fine…I'm fine with that...We're good, right? But this is a really nice place, and we could monitor the guy next door…and….."

Jack looked up, met Ianto's bewildered eyes, and spoke as clearly as he could with his heart in his mouth. "I meant….we….as in…you and me…..here….both of us…" Which wasn't very clearly at all, apparently.

Time rolled back, and Jack was babbling about officey feels and butt photocopying. From which he progressed to looking for a bomb under plant pots before stammering his way through dinner and a movie. Definitely the least coherent invitation to a date Ianto had ever received. And Jack sounded exactly the same right now, so was he really asking…..that?

Time caught up, and Ianto realized that he, too, was mimicking that moment in the past, because his hands were planted on his hips, and he was once again about to cut through the babble with his pulse hammering against his temples so loudly he could barely hear what he was saying.

"Are you asking me to move in with you?"

Jack stopped, breathed and replayed the past too, because after all, it _had _worked.

"Interested?"

-XXX-

Evie finally got sick of loitering in the hallway. She'd called nearly all of her girlfriends, and there was a limit to the number of times you could agree that all the best ones were on the other bus before running out of euphemisms. She_ did_ knock before entering, but obviously they didn't hear.

Because surely they would have_ stopped_.

Evie supposed she should be relieved that the older man's coat was big enough to cover both of them. Being disappointed would be terribly unprofessional, however toned she suspected they were. And she hoped the brochures were right about the lacquer on the floorboards being heat-resistant, because Mighty Aphrodite this was _hot_.

And to top it all off, Evie now had _the _story of the office Christmas party.

And if she kept watching without saying anything she'd have to admit to being a voyeur.

"I assume this means you've going to take the flat?" Evie asked, as professionally as she could in the circumstances.

That young man from the Tourism office had a really cute squeal.

* * *

**The reference to Ianto singing comes from the book 'Into the silence'. Anything else you don't recognise comes from my diseased imagination. Hope you enjoyed.**


	8. I want to wake up with you

**This the promised sequel to the earlier chapter 'More than this' but is shoud stand by itself if you haven't read that one.**

**

* * *

**

Ianto opened his front door, still chuckling to himself over the way his niece had managed to trick him into an excess of bedtime stories. A relaxed evening hadn't relaxed his reflexes, though, and all of his senses went on alert as he realized all was not quite as it should be.

Ianto eased the door open and froze, listening intently as his pistol slipped soundlessly into his hand. He could hear breathing. Someone was in his flat. Ianto took a deep breath of his own and pounced.

Once he had the intruder immobilized, Ianto bumped the light switch with his elbow. To reveal….

"Damn it, Jack."

Of course it was Jack. Ianto's annoying boss and sometimes bed-partner was pinned against his wall. Not the first time he'd been in that position, admittedly, but it wasn't usual for Ianto's arm to be across Jack's throat, compressing his airway, nor for the business end of his gun to be pressed firmly into the fine hair covering Jack's temple.

Jack tapped the arm and Ianto removed it, swearing under his breath. "I nearly shot you," Ianto growled.

"I'd survive," Jack chortled. "Good reflexes," he added, rubbing his throat. "And good control," he continued, eyes widening at the click as Ianto reengaged the safety. It hadn't been a bluff. He really had been millimeters from another death. Twice in one night. The stray thought wandered through his mind that at least this time Ianto would've been there when he woke up, and Jack was surprised and a little bit concerned that it felt so comforting.

A single unarmed blowfish hadn't seemed serious enough to call for back up, especially if it meant interrupting Ianto's night off. Especially when it was a night off that Ianto had planned for, insisted on even in the face of Jack's best bedroom eyes. A family thing. Well, that explained it. Jack didn't do family. Even if Ianto's family sounded like a nice bunch, and a party would have been much more fun than a Blowfish.

Jack often told himself that one of the best things about being with Ianto was the lack of pressure to conform to those tiring 21st Century protocols. Like the 'meet the family they'll love you' thing that pretty much any of his entanglements for the last fifty years would have expected him to agree with.

Instead of insisting that he didn't. Jack decided the uncomfortable feeling in his gut was simple offence. Not because he wanted to do the family thing, of course. Just Ianto's attitude, as though Jack wasn't fit company for his family. They'd have loved him. Everybody loved Jack. But Ianto was right, it was better he hadn't gone, however good a party it was that he'd missed. They'd have expected him to accompany Ianto every time after that, which would only cause difficulties. Because, of course, they weren't a couple. Jack didn't do 'couple'.

Or monogamy. The only reason he hadn't been with anyone except Ianto for so long was…..well there _was_ a good reason, he was sure.

All of which had seemed reason enough not to call Ianto for help with the Blowfish. It had nothing to do to proving to Ianto – or himself - that Jack was quite capable of handling a simple call out by himself, thank you very much.

So he hadn't called Ianto, or anyone else, and of course it went pear-shaped, as things tended to do nowadays if Ianto wasn't there to keep them in order. Which led to Jack shuddering back into life alone, hands closing on empty air as they searched instinctively for the anchoring embrace he'd somehow come to rely on. Receiving in return nothing but the patter of raindrops on seeking fingers and the scent of an hour-dead Blowfish choking his heaving lungs.

"That's not the point," Ianto was saying, quite loudly in fact, when Jack dragged his mind back to the more satisfactory present. OK, so Ianto was angry with him, probably with a certain amount of justification, but he wouldn't _stay _angry. Jack arranged his face into a patient expression and waited for the lecture to end.

"Just because you don't stay dead," Ianto almost shouted. "Is no reason to start getting blasé about being killed."

At about that point Ianto realized he was waving the gun for emphasis and decided to deal with it before attempting to make sense of Jack's incursion tonight. He unloaded the firearm and stowed it away, where he wouldn't be tempted to turn 'nearly shot Jack' into 'shot Jack just to wipe that smirk off his face'.

"It upsets me when I kill you," Ianto explained, forcing his voice back into its best butler tone. "And it makes a mess. I'd rather avoid it. Especially in my own home."

Jack grinned. "You've only ever killed me by accident," he pointed out.

"Doesn't mean I want to add to the list," Ianto grouched. "What the hell are you doing here, anyway?" Pointless asking how Jack got in. He had keys to all the team member's homes, and the fact they were only supposed to be used in the direst of emergencies didn't hold any weight with Jack. Personal boundaries obviously didn't exist in the fifty-first century. Ianto firmly ignored the treacherous thought that he kind of like the idea of Jack being here when he got home. This was a one-off, probably some purely selfish reason which he'd find out too late to avoid being hurt by fruitless hopes.

Jack was still giving him a smile instead of an answer, which hardly implied anything good. Ianto eyed the man sprawled on his couch suspiciously, even going so far as to take a surreptitious sniff. Jack smelled the same as always, though. At least he hadn't arrived on Ianto's doorstep reeking of someone else.

And how pathetic was it that Ianto was experiencing the tiniest twinge of gratitude? Ianto reminded himself firmly – again – this really was happening far too much for safety - that they weren't exclusive. Jack's presence tonight probably just meant he hadn't bothered going out on the pull. And why would he, on a rainy night like this, when he had a convenient source right here? One who'd make sure he got to work on time the next day, too.

Ianto's blood began to simmer. If Jack had the gall to turn up here because he hadn't gotten lucky tonight, expecting Ianto-on-a-platter, he was going to be sadly disappointed. Ianto might accept being Jack's casual shag, but he wasn't going to be Jack's 'if all else fails shag'. He still had _some_ pride left.

Ianto propped his hands on his hips and glared. "I repeat, what the hell are you doing here? Apart from scaring the hell out of me and nearly having me kill you, it's a bloody invasion of privacy, this is." And the remnants of his pride prompted him to add. "What if I'd picked up?"

Jack quelled the uneasiness the question raised, even if it was only by reassuring himself that it probably hadn't happened. An inexplicable reaction which he'd examine later. He bit back the 'Well did you?' that was trying to crawl off the tip of his tongue and pasted on a grin instead. "Threesome?" he offered, somewhat lamely.

Ianto glared. Something beneath the glare warned Jack he'd gone too far.

"I was joking, Ianto," he said hastily. "That was a joke. You know, I say something funny, and we laugh?"

"Because it's totally laughable that anyone'd find me attractive, of course."

Jack blinked. In his mind it was more laughable that there was anyone on this planet who _didn't _find Ianto attractive, but he couldn't _say _that. It made him sound….besotted. Did people say besotted anymore? Not that he was.

"Ianto," Jack said, mustering a superior tone. "If you'd picked up, you wouldn't have brought her all the way back here, would you? Or him," he added, just to be safe. And to take his mind off the uncomfortable feeling the thought of Ianto with someone else engendered. He just didn't want Ianto to get hurt, that's all. One night stands could be dangerous.

Ianto continued to glare. "What if I hadn't come home, then? How long were you planning to hang about?"

Jack shrugged. "You wouldn't have begrudged me a night in a real bed if you weren't using it, would you?" It was a weak excuse, but he couldn't tell the truth, not if he intended to hold on to the fragments of his pride. Jack Harkness didn't need anyone. He particularly didn't need Ianto so much that he'd settle for breathing the scent off his sheets if he couldn't have the real thing. No, that would really be pathetic. He'd turned up here because he was wet and tired and the Blowfish which had killed him was stinking out the Hub even from its drawer in the morgue so he couldn't stay there, could he? Not tonight. Not alone with the creature that had smiled so cruelly as it twisted its knife in his guts until Jack's shaking hand connected with his Webley and rendered the sadistic alien incapable of drawing that particular death out any longer.

Ianto's eyes shone in the subdued lighting, unfocused slightly in the way Jack knew meant he was concentrating, putting something together. Damn. Maybe the Hub wouldn't have been that bad. Or he could've found a roof, or just stayed awake. If he didn't sleep, he wouldn't have to wake up alone again.

"You adore that lumpy piece of furniture you call a bed," Ianto said carefully, as if he was checking each word for quality assurance before it passed his lips. "And you're a far better liar than this normally. What happened to you tonight, Jack?"

Jack twitched, uncomfortable beneath what had suddenly become an interrogation.

"I should go," Jack offered, just as Ianto's eyes sharpened. Whatever internal program he'd been running, it had reached a conclusion.

"Not yet," Ianto said firmly. His arm flashed out, fingers closing on Jack's collar and twitching it aside. The bruises from this morning's wrestle with a Weevil were gone. Ianto moved lower, slapping Jack's hand away as he tried to prevent Ianto from pulling his shirt free of the waistband.

"Now, now, Jack," Ianto said, voice smooth yet soft, iron wrapped in silk. "You don't usually try to stop me from getting your clothes off. What's the problem? Where are the scratches from yesterday's carnivorous grapevine, hmm?" Ianto's hands dropped away to rest loosely by his sides but his eyes searched.

"You know I heal fast," Jack mumbled, head drooping away from the scrutiny.

"Not that fast," Ianto disagreed. His voice softened; all traces of iron gone. "You died tonight, didn't you, Jack?"

Jack's raised his head and almost cringed, far more uncomfortable with the compassion now flooding Ianto's eyes than he had been with the suspicion.

Jack tore his gaze away, looking anywhere other than at the twin blue diamonds that had somehow replaced Ianto's eyes. He sees too much, Jack thought, with something that would've been resentment if he wasn't so tired of keeping up the act.

"Blowfish," he admitted.

"Why didn't you take anyone with you?" Ianto demanded, exasperation flooding the previously gentle tone.

Jack avoided those eyes again. "It was only one. No weapons registering. I thought I'd just be running it off." His lips twitched in a patently false smile. "We'll have to fix that. A diving knife registers as a tool, apparently."

"You woke up alone, then." It wasn't a question so Jack didn't answer. Ianto sighed and dropped onto the couch beside the boss who'd somehow become his lover. "C'mere then."

Whatever walls they'd built around their various protective pretences crumbled. It wasn't so much the simple phrase as what lay unsaid beneath it. Jack slid into the offered embrace with a strangled noise both men pretended wasn't a sob. Ianto's hand crept up to stroke Jack's spine, soothing and safe.

"You should have called me, Jack," he chided gently, when the tremors were gone.

"Hard to do while dead," Jack pointed out, his voice muffled in Ianto's shoulder.

"When you woke up," Ianto said patiently. "I would have come and gotten you back to the Hub."

"Came here instead," Jack pointed out, still speaking into Ianto's shoulder.

"You haven't explained that yet," Ianto said, prizing Jack's head off his shoulder so he could see the other man's face.

Jack merely rubbed a fist across his eyes. The innocence of the childlike gesture hit Ianto with a surge of something it wasn't safe to feel about Jack. Except he suspected it was too late for safety and Jack was here, needing him and not even trying to pretend he didn't.

And now that he thought about it, Jack hadn't smelled like anyone else for a very long time.

"Gotten used to waking up with you," Jack mumbled, seeking the haven of Ianto's shoulder again. "_Wanted_ to wake up with you."

"Daft sod," Ianto said, his voice now colored by the amusement both men were so much more comfortable with. "Since when have you had to get yourself killed for that?"

Jack's head popped up. "Open invitation, then?"

Ianto raised the eyebrow, but it lacked spirit. "Given the way you turned up tonight, aren't you already assuming one?"

Jack pouted. Ianto sighed, rose to his feet and extended a hand. They were lousy at talking, he and Jack. Good thing the important things didn't need words.

"Well, yeah," Jack said, clutching the offered hand firmly in his own and following where it led. Right at the moment, he doubted he'd object if Ianto led him straight into hell, so given he was moving in the direction of the bedroom, hey, it was all good. "But it's nice to be invited."

**Thanks for reading. **


	9. Freedom come, freedom go

**None of these pieces really have a timeline, but in my head this grew formNorwegian Wood. (Which followed on from Heatwave-my head is a strange place sometimes.)  
**(Sorry if you got a repeat alert for this, I reread and found too many typos to live with...Must have been tired when I posted!...fixed now)

* * *

"Monitor's routed to my wrist strap," Jack announced, leaning on the tourism counter. "You done?"

Ianto looked up. "Not quite. Two more cover stories to plant into the media. You go ahead, if you like."

Jack shook his head and smiled, hoping it didn't look forced. "I'll wait on the Plass," he offered.

The Plass was deserted. Too late for the office workers and too early for the party people. Jack leaned on the railing and looked out across the bay, watching the last rays of the sun quenched on the far horizon. Gulls rode the waves, bobbing like corks as they dove for their dinner. Quiet and peaceful, a rare moment. Domestic, almost.

And just a little boring.

The stars were beginning to appear overhead. Jack ignored them, quite pointedly. He was _not_ going to have Ianto come out to find him staring up longingly. There might be the promise of endless freedom in every twinkle, but it was a false promise. Jack didn't want to go out there again. He had Ianto, here on Earth, just as he'd dreamed of that entire year, and he _didn't_ want to run away to space again.

The problem with that was, he wasn't doing a very good job of convincing himself. Jack was feeling twitchy, and was close to hating himself for it.

Ianto emerged from the office less than half an hour later, murmuring apologies for keeping Jack waiting. There was no point driving home, not on a clear night like this. Their flat – the one Jack had talked Ianto into moving into, chiefly because of the Jacuzzi – was within walking distance, so they left the SUV at the Hub, and walked. Side by side, not touching, but so comfortable together their strides fell unconsciously into sync. Jack fought the childish impulse to break stride. Really, it was time he grew up a bit, wasn't it?

Whenever Jack had been this close to someone before, they'd always want to hold hands, hang off his elbow, even wrap an arm around his waist - which apart from being cloying, made walking awkward. Jack had no issues with physical contact, but he _did_ resent the feeling that he was being publicly claimed. As much a sign of ownership, in Jack's mind, as a brand, or a collar. All of which he'd seen out amongst those stars, all of which he'd fled from.

Ianto wasn't like that. He had his quirks, but possessiveness wasn't one of them. Excessive tidiness, yes, an insistence on order and planning that Jack found wildly frustrating, not to mention the way the Welshman could _never_ simply ask for what he needed. Which led to Jack stuffing up frequently, and spectacularly.

Oddly enough, it was those very quirks that Jack remembered most clearly, longed for with such desperation, that year when he had nothing much to do other than think. Because he'd been hanging from those damned chains, which didn't allow for much besides thinking. Or he'd needed something to think about, apart from what method of death the Master was going to experiment with, this time.

He'd decided, having had ample opportunity to consider it from every angle, that the flaws kept Ianto from being annoyingly perfect. Jack couldn't tolerate perfection in anyone – except himself, of course - and dreams of what he and Ianto could have together kept Jack sane for a year.

They stopped, still in sync, waiting for traffic lights to change. Hardly any traffic, but Ianto didn't J-walk. "Should we stop and grab something for dinner?" Ianto asked. "Or should I tease the Rift by trying to cook?"

That was another quirk, one Jack hadn't known about before. Ianto liked cooking. His diet of take-away was more by necessity than choice, as the Rift wasn't domesticity-friendly. Jack quite approved of the Rift, sometimes. At least, more than the approved of Ianto clanging pots and pans for hours on end and grumbling about Jack being in the way when all he was trying to do was help. That was what you were supposed to do, wasn't it?

The lights changed. Ianto was still waiting for an answer. Jack smiled. Worth a try, he supposed. It wasn't as though he really wanted another meal of takeaway. Ianto's food tasted good, the few times they'd actually gotten the chance to eat it.

"It'd be nice to eat something we don't have to peel the shrink-wrap off first," he agreed.

We. They. We. _When_, Jack wondered fretfully, _did I stop being an__** I**__._

-XXX-

_This is what you wanted_, Jack reminded himself forcibly, as he waited with Ianto for the lift to arrive. _This was what kept you going all those months on the Valiant._

In a year of captivity, he'd planned for freedom. With insanity all around him, pressing closer with each death at the hands of a madman, Jack had tied his own sanity to the image of pale skin, blue eyes and a soft smile. Surrounded by nightmares and death, he'd dreamed of life in the arms of a Welshman.

He'd occupied hours, no _days_ of boredom with planning for how it would be when life was back to normal. He'd blocked out screams – even when they were his own - listening instead to the voice in his mind rehearsing phrases he'd use to make amends to Ianto, and the team, for every piece of neglect, for every time his trust had wavered. He planned for every eventuality, every scenario, down to how exactly how he would win Ianto back, if he'd lost him during his absence. Including the dirty tactics to use if Ianto had turned to someone else.

Jack had it all, now. Everything he'd dreamed of and more than he'd hoped for. Yeah, he'd had to work for it a bit, but that should make the prize all the more valuable, right?

Jack watched the lights above the lift sourly as they paused at every floor on the way down. Taking bloody forever, it was. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Ianto's eyebrow lift enquiringly. He didn't ask, of course. Ianto knew exactly how much good asking did. He'd wait until Jack chose to tell him whatever it was that had his feet shifting as though their soles were on fire.

As far a Jack was concerned, Ianto would wait forever to hear this. To hear that he'd given Jack everything he'd longed for, as well as things he'd needed that Jack hadn't even known about himself – and that it was making Jack feel as though the lift he was about to step into was a cage. That this life he'd dreamed of made him long for escape.

It made no difference that Jack knew exactly what would happen if he did escape. That as soon as he was free of this imaginary cage, he'd beat himself to death trying to get back in. He'd done it before, hadn't he?

Jack remembered waking from the darkness Abaddon had nearly sent him into permanently. It might have been Gwen who woke him, but it was thoughts of Ianto that brought him back. He'd drawn Ianto into his arms, well aware the entire team was watching, with their eyes trying to escape their sockets, thinking only that there was no better way of letting him know, letting them _all_ know, that Jack's mind was finally clear, that his choice was made, his priorities sorted. Ianto, and Torchwood, in that order.

But the walls had closed in so quickly, smothering, choking. The sound of the Tardis was the call of freedom, and he hadn't stopped to consider whether it was calling to _him_. He'd fled the walls, forsaken safety and routine for excitement and adventure, and spent a year regretting his stupidity. Spent a year vowing to make it up to him. To all of them, really.

So here it was, all of it, all he'd wanted. Ianto by his side, in his arms, in _their _home. A normal life, or as close to normal as possible with both of them working for Torchwood. He'd longed for this, damn it, yearned for the feeling of safety to be found in the embrace of someone he trusted more than he trusted himself. Someone to chase the nightmares away, or wake him when they wouldn't be banished. Someone to share his dreams.

Jack had it all and he was _twitchy_. This had been his vision of freedom for a year, and he wanted to escape from it. He was an idiot, and he knew it, and he wouldn't let his own idiocy destroy him, destroy _them_.

The lift arrived, disgorged its horde of neighbors. People smiled at them, exchanged greetings. Some of them even knew their names. Neighbors. Domesticity. Jack's skin itched.

Ianto jabbed the button for their floor, glanced at Jack, smiled _that _smile, then pressed the button for the top floor as well.

"You look like you could use a roof," he murmured, smiling a different smile. The crooked one.

Guilt settled heavy on Jack's soul. Ianto wouldn't ask, but he knew something was wrong, and Jack had no doubt the younger man was blaming himself for not being able to help. Ianto deserved better than this. Ianto deserved better than Jack.

"I don't need a roof Ianto," Jack lied. The doors opened on their floor. Ianto stepped through while Jack stood frozen. Ianto was about to walk away from him, through the lift door and to their flat, no doubt, but something very close to terror wreathed through Jack's soul at the thought of Ianto leaving _him_, wanting to escape _him_. Jack ordered his stiff legs to move, but his eyes were fixed on the call button for the top floor, and it beckoned like the statue of liberty.

He was a goddamned hypocrite, that's what he was. Pushing Ianto away with one hand, and hanging on for dear life with the other.

Ianto turned back with one foot still in the doorway, and the smile wavered. "Jack, please, of course you do." His voice turned plaintive. "And even if _you_ don't need one, _I _do. Well, I need _you_ to need one, or _want_ one at least….oh that isn't terribly clear, is it? Sorry."

The sensors in the elevator door began to complain about Ianto's body blocking the entrance. Jack nudged him forward and stepped out himself. The lift doors groaned shut, reminding him of prison doors shrieking on their hinges. Ianto leaned against the wall opposite the lift-well while Jack waited for something to make sense, and came up blank.

Ianto's hands scrubbed through his hair. Jack bent his efforts to banishing the feeling that his last chance of freedom had departed with the grinding gears as the lift continued to the roof without him. He'd promised Ianto more than this, and he was going to keep his promise.

Ianto glared at the closing doors as though it was the innocent metal contemplating betrayal, instead of someone too old and jaded to be worthy of him. Jack wondered with a feeling of dread whether Ianto trying to send him to the roof alone was some sort of test, or rejection, and exactly what he'd done to deserve either.

"What's wrong, Ianto?" Jack asked, as if he wasn't still twitching.

Ianto gazed at the pattern on the carpet beneath his feet. "I'm sorry Jack, but, we've hardly had a minute apart since we moved in," he said, somewhat fretfully. "Don't you think it's getting to be a bit much?"

Something started growing inside Jack that was part relief, part realization that he really was an idiot who couldn't possibly deserve to be with this amazing young man, but mostly something he wasn't ready to admit to, not yet.

Ianto's lower lip snuck in between his teeth. "Oh hell, it's just me, is it?" he said, looking up with eyes adorably wide. Jack could've laughed at the panicky note tainting the Welsh vowels. "But I thought," Ianto babbled. "Given that we've both lived alone for a long time – well, you longer than me, oh hell that's not funny, sorry." He paused, breathed in and out carefully, and tried again. "I thought you'd want your own space a bit, too." He paused again, wide-eyed and gulping, took in Jack's blatant confusion and began to backtrack furiously. "But it's OK, if you don't. I'll get used to it. Oh crap, I didn't mean that either, Jack. I _want _to get used to it. Shit, that's no better." Ianto slumped against the wall and buried his head in his hands. "I'm not good at this," he mumbled. "Jack. I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean that how it sounded."

Jack gently pried Ianto's hands out of his hair, before the younger man tore any out.

"What _do_ you mean, then?" Jack asked carefully. His skin wasn't itching anymore, he noted with surprise. In fact, it might actually be tingling.

Ianto took a deep breath. "We wake up together, we go to work together, where we work. Together. We leave work together. We eat and sleep – or don't sleep" at which he blushed quite prettily "Together. And what I'm saying, Jack, is that togetherness is all very well, but don't you think we're overdoing it, just a bit?"

Jack felt a laugh building deep inside, and as it escaped, all the doubts, fears, and every last twitch escaped with it.

"I suppose we are," he agreed, feeling relieved and stupid in equal measure. "But I thought it was just me. And I was trying to….I didn't want you to think that I…..Because I've left before and I didn't want you thinking I wanted to leave again. Because I'm not…and I won't…and I don't want to." And it was suddenly, completely true. Jack didn't want to leave. He just needed to know he could.

Whatever else he might have said dried up as Ianto hugged him. Just a hug. Arms around him, tightly, squeezing, and Jack waited for them to feel like ropes tying him down. Waited for the walls to close in again. But they didn't. Because this hug, these arms, they weren't holding him in. They were letting him go, in the sure and certain knowledge that he'd be back.

And it all made sense, suddenly. Ianto working late, telling Jack to go home first. Ianto making so much noise in the kitchen that Jack had to retreat to another room. Ianto trying to send him to the roof. He was twitchy, too, bless him.

Ianto released Jack and reached the button for the lift again. "Up or down?" he enquired. "Our roof, or another?"

Jack hadn't stopped smiling yet. "Our roof's fine," he agreed. He didn't need distance, just space. Open air around him, and the security of knowing somewhere beneath his feet Ianto waited, reveling in his own space. Clanging pots and pans and swearing when the onions made his eyes water. Cooking a meal the Rift probably wouldn't let them eat, at least not tonight. What the hell, they could have it tomorrow, whatever it was.

Ianto was bloody near perfect. And he was a good cook, too.

"Lamb stew?" Jack asked hopefully.

Ianto laughed. "Give me ninety minutes."

Freedom wasn't in the stars. Freedom was an open door. One you could walk out of, and into again. Jack stepped through the lift door again, and could swear his feet were growing wings

**Hope you enjoyed!**


	10. Annie's Song

**Sorry fluff lovers, if you're smiling in anticpation, don't. This is 'stuff' not fluff. More Ianto than Janto, but more Annie the Pizza girl than anything else. Set during Cyberwoman.**

* * *

Annie tossed her apron aside with a feeling of relief. Her shift was over. If she could get the smell of garlic out of her clothes, she might even hit the bars.

"One last delivery," Danny told her as she passed him on her way to the staff bathroom, "Tourism office."

"I suppose I could take it," she offered with feigned reluctance, trying to pretend her throat hadn't just gone dry. "It's just across the Plass."

Danny smirked, seeing straight through her pretence. "Thought you might. Thanks, love."

Annie didn't blush. She was used to it. Everyone teased her about having a crush. "On an older man, too."

And here she is, heart thumping while she brushes her hair, eyes sparkling as they look back at her from the mirror, and admitting to herself that they're right.

She doesn't understand why everyone thinks it's so funny though. She hasn't got one of those ridiculous unobtainable crushes on an actor or a rock star. He's not her tutor or her boss or anything else that would make it on the creepy side. And yeah, he's probably older than her, but he isn't _old_. At least she doesn't think so. He _looks _young, anyway, except for his eyes. He doesn't live in a different country. And yet, as she sighs to her girlfriends over chocolate and ice cream, he's as unreachable as the stars.

He's the man who works in the tourism office. And he_ is_ young. Face as smooth as if he hasn't started shaving yet, though that's probably just impeccable grooming. No wrinkles, no receding hairline. He's _young_, except for those eyes. Too young for those eyes. An old soul, as her mother would say.

All Annie's friends agree, he's gorgeous. They've had several tours of Cardiff castle and countless ferry rides, Annie and her gang, just for the excuse to go in and book a tour with him. His nametag says 'Ianto', a good Welsh name for a good-looking local boy, well, local _man_.

Local _gentleman_, actually, in a world where the word is fast losing meaning. He's got such lovely manners. Once, Annie was walking out of Jubilee with her arms full of pizza boxes, and Ianto (always Ianto in her mind, though she's never actually called him that to his face. She will, one day, she will) held the door open for her. So he_ is_ a gentleman. A very rare thing, these days, as Annie's mum also says, far too often. Whenever she'd brought a bloke home, actually.

Mum'd be rapt if Annie ever brought Ianto home. Not that it's gonna happen. Annie's only conversations with Ianto so far are of the 'Here's your order' variety. Because in that time-honored tradition, all the witty things she practices in the mirror get stuck on the knots in her tongue in the presence of the The Crush.

The first time Annie wangled her way into delivering his pizza order – much more than one man could eat, by the way – he remembered her from all the times he'd been in Jubilee when Annie was on the register, wearing her tacky plastic nametag. _Ianto _remembered her. "Thank you Annie," he'd said, furnishing a week's worth of dreams just from the way he said her name.

Another time, she'd snagged a delivery just before she went off shift, hoping she'd have the nerve to ask Ianto for a drink. He met her at the door, after she buzzed the external intercom they always used for after-hours deliveries, and if she'd been hoping he'd ask her into the closed office, she was disappointed. He had the money ready in his hand, and thanked her with a frown, so the invite she'd rehearsed all day stuck in her throat. "It's dark out there," Ianto said finally. "They shouldn't have sent you out alone."

Annie tried to say something clever and lighthearted. She wasn't a wimp, after all, she knew how to handle herself. But his eyes were dark and troubled, as if he knew more than he should about what lurked in the streets of Cardiff after dark, and she couldn't help the shiver that ran through her at his tone. Not a good shiver, that time.

But her heart stayed right where it'd stuck in her throat, and her imagination went wild at the thought that maybe he'd walk her back. It hadn't been quite that good, but the pizzas cooled on the counter while Ianto hovered at the door, watching until she was safely inside Jubilee. Another week worth of dreams, right there, and it was horrible to admit, but most of them involved her getting into danger and Ianto racing to the rescue – and even Annie's diary would never learn how _those_ dreams ended.

Annie sighs at the mirror and checks her clothes for stains. Clear, thank all the fates. She doesn't want Ianto to see her with tomato spattered on her shirt. He's always beautifully dressed, never a stain, never a wrinkle. It's a mystery how he manages to afford clothes like that. Surely the Tourism Board doesn't pay that well.

But if you ask about Torchwood, people point to that office. Danny says there's a Torchwood on the books, good customers, and their drop-off address is the tourism office.

That office is strange. When people go in there, they don't come always back out. At least not through the same door. And there's always far more pizza than one man can possibly eat. It's only a small office, too, far too small for – Five people?

Annie hasn't seen that elegant aloof lady for a while, now. Dark haired, with skin like expensive honey. There's a different one, a new one, a local girl by the voice. Dark hair, pale skin, and when she smiles, which she does more than the rest of them, there's a gap between her two front teeth, like Annie used to have before those years in braces.

There's another lady that usually hurries past with her head down. Pretty Asian lady. Shy-looking and dark haired as well. Why don't they have any blondes there? Every team of secret agents has a blonde, don't they? They need a blonde. Sometimes Annie thinks maybe she could be that missing part of the team. Maybe she's not quite blonde, but a bottle of peroxide would fix that, no problem.

But then she'll see them, with that thin pale bloke hovering over whichever one can't walk without help. She'll see the makeshift bandages darken as they rush across the Plass and vanish somewhere around the water tower. There's panic and pain, and it doesn't look glamorous anymore.

Still, _he's_ there in office, paying for pizza and smiling a lovely smile that doesn't quite reach his old, old eyes. He's part of it, but apart from it. Sometimes Annie wonders if the secrets in Ianto's eyes all belong to Torchwood, or are some of them his own? Because the others don't look like that.

Except for that other bloke. The tall, movie-star handsome one. Annie's friends all have crushes on him instead. That's fine with Annie. She doesn't need the competition.

The movie-star bloke is competition enough. Annie isn't blinded by her crush. She can see the way the bloke in the coat looks at the young man she's already started thinking of as _hers_. She sees the admiration, the _appetite_. And she's jealous.

Annie sees the way Ianto's eyes change when the older bloke looks at him, when he talks to him in that sultry voice her girlfriends swoon over. Ianto's eyes don't look old anymore, they look young, and scared and hopeless, too. But his mouth flirts back, while his lips twist into something that passes for a smile, but it isn't, and Annie's hands twist into useless fists, because the bloke in the coat never looks at Ianto's face. And maybe it's only Annie who sees the way Ianto looks _past _him, too. She wonders who he sees, and why he just doesn't tell the bloke in the coat where to go.

Annie knows she could make Ianto smile. A real smile that warms those cold, old eyes. If only he'd look at _her_, and really see her.

Maybe tonight's the night. Ianto's there alone. Annie watched the rest of them leave, saw them stroll past Jubilee, heading towards the pub. All of them except Ianto, and she burned with anger that they'd leave him behind.

Then the order came through. Two pepperoni delights, with coleslaw, because his boss says he doesn't eat enough vegetables. That burns worse, because surely the boss is the one in the coat. How dare he pretend to worry about Ianto's diet when he never really sees him?

But if Ianto is alone in the office, maybe tonight Annie will finally be able to get past the lump in her throat. Her shift's over. Danny doesn't expect her to come back to Jubilee after this last delivery. And if Ianto's workmates are all at the pub, surely it wouldn't be that hard to convince him to leave, too. He was worried about her walking back alone last time; maybe she can convince him to walk with her.

And if she can do that, it wouldn't be too much of reach to buy him a thank-you drink, would it? Danny yells that the order's ready, but Annie's still in the bathroom, fixing her makeup and tidying her hair and blushing as she undoes a button on her shirt. Annie isn't that sort of girl, but she wants to catch his eye tonight, and the mirror tells her she's in with a chance, now. God knows she could do with the confidence boost, she thinks as she hits the exposed skin with a blast of perfume to cover the lingering scent of garlic bread.

The pizzas are heavy on her arm. Yeah, tonight's the night. If it doesn't work out, at least she'll know she's tried. It's an effort, but Annie's rapt that she sounds so beautifully casual as she calls into the intercom. It cranks her confidence up another notch. She can do this. Dreams _can _come true. You just need to put in the work.

Annie's heart isn't in her throat, this time. It's hammering in her chest so hard she can barely hear her own voice echoing around the empty office. Her voice, calling _his_ name for the first time, and it feels so right on her tongue.

There's another door. Odd that she hasn't noticed it before. It opens for her, inviting her in. _Ianto_ inviting her in? It must be. The others are gone, she watched them go,k and all those dreams _are_ about to come true. Two pizzas. One for him – maybe one for her?

Maybe this isn't real. Maybe it's another dream. Annie's never been this brave before, _except_ in her dreams. But she has to do this, she absolutely has to, or she'll miss her only chance. A bloke as handsome as him won't bother trying again. He could have anyone.

The door creaks, and there's a gloomy hallway beyond. Annie's not just nervous now, she's bloody near terrified. But Ianto's down there, maybe waiting for her, and only the brave deserve the fair, right?

* * *

_This was actually written to weave around the Cyberwoman ep in Breaking my Heart, if you're reading that, but there's way too much going on to add this in as well. Thanks for reading._


	11. Werewolves of London

**This snippet is inspired by recent RL events and based on an incident in the Dr Who episode 'Tooth and claw' (Expect spoilers if you haven't seen that, but you should watch it anyway. Apart from being a great episode, it results in the founding of Torchwood). The main thing you need to know before reading is that Queen Victoria was exposed to werewolves, with the implication that the 'disease' would be passed down. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Gwen bustled around the Hub with stars in her eyes. Cleaning and tidying and yelling fiercely at anyone who wasn't joining in the effort to eradicate years of grime.

Anyone except Ianto. Ianto was exempt from his usual duties today so that he could – as Gwen announced in hushed tones - 'Prepare'.

Ianto rescued his coffee mug before Gwen took it away to wash it. It had taken quite a while to get the inner patina the way he liked it and he didn't want to risk Gwen scrubbing it all away. Ianto sighed happily and leaned back in his chair, reveling in the sight of someone else dealing with the chaos.

"We should have illustrious guests more often," the young Welshman noted, with an uncharacteristically huge grin decorating his face.

"Who'd have thought she'd be the star-struck sort?" Jack agreed. His own smile spread as Gwen performed a creditable impression of a fishwife at the sight of the Autopsy Bay.

"You'd think she'd be used to it," Ianto commented, chuckling. Owen's protests weakened beneath the torrent of abuse, and silenced altogether when Gwen clattered down the staircase. "I mean, we're right under the Millennium Centre. She sees celebrities all the time."

Tosh shook her head at them from across the expanse of desks. "Men," she said, with no little amount of exasperation. "Do I really need to explain?"

Tosh had escaped Gwen's cleanup campaign, apart from having to empty her half-full wastepaper bin. Ianto suspected she might even be in collusion with it. Admittedly, Tosh's workstation was usually ordered, but today it shone. Polish had been applied, post-it notes removed, and none of it Ianto's doing. All the evidence suggested Tosh wasn't unaffected.

"I'm having such a nice day," Ianto commented. "And yes Tosh, please explain. If I understand the forces at work here, I might be able to replicate them." He sighed and glanced approvingly at the gleaming surfaces of the Hub. Gwen had gone to the extent of taking a scrubbing brush to the walls. She couldn't remove the ingrained dirt of years, but some of more recent blobs were fainter, at least. "And I _want _to recreate this," Ianto added. "As often as possible."

_So do I, _Jack thought dreamily. He wouldn't admit it, except perhaps under torture, but his current happiness level had nothing to do with the pending arrival of their esteemed guest. He was, however, quite taken with the sight of a certain Welshman sprawled in his chair, relaxed for a change, and showing every sign of contentment. Jack would happily give far more than a tidy Hub to see this again.

Tosh smiled and made her way around the desks, dropping into the one beside Ianto. Jack wasn't using it. He was perched _on_ the desk instead, looking down at Ianto with a sweet smile that made Tosh feel warm inside. Owen would be retching.

"You'll need another Royal Wedding," Tosh advised. "It's the princess thing. Every girl dreams of being one. If you can't have that, meeting one's next best."

"She isn't a princess yet," Jack objected.

Tosh waved a hand. "As good as. She's qualified for 'The Talk', hasn't she?"

Ianto nodded. "An introduction to the Care and Management of werewolves in English Royal Society. To be delivered by my humble self in," he checked his stopwatch, "Three hours. Think Gwen can keep the excitement going until then?"

"I'd say so," Jack answered, jerking his chin. Heads turned to watch Gwen as she flitted up the stairs from the Autopsy Bay, sporting a victorious smile. It was entirely possible that her feet weren't touching the steps. "He'll have it clear," she reported. "I had to threaten him a bit."

Gwen smiled brightly, turning the full wattage of her most endearing gap-toothed smile onto Ianto. "No coffee for a week if he doesn't. You'll back me, Ianto, won't you?" Which explained why Ianto was getting the smile usually reserved for Jack.

If it got the Autopsy Bay clean without getting Ianto up to elbows in entrails, though, he was all for it. "I will," Ianto agreed. "Have to warn you, though, it doesn't work for me. Owen doesn't mind Starbucks, at a pinch."

Gwen raised her hand, revealing a plastic rectangle. "I've got his loyalty card," she said smugly. "He's due a free one, see?"

It was a master stroke. Owen wouldn't pay for a coffee when he had a free cup owing. She had him. Gwen curtseyed daintily in response to the ensuing patter of applause, making use of the gesture she'd been practicing for the last month. After which she found an unoccupied chair and rolled towards the others, coming to rest not far from Ianto and pinning him with a speculative stare.

"Aren't you nervous, Ianto?" she asked, eyes wide.

"_Why_ aren't you nervous?" Tosh corrected.

"He's done it before," Jack said, his body suddenly tense. "Last century."

"For the last wedding," Ianto explained. "In 1999."

It was a subtle movement, but Tosh noticed Ianto's hand rise to rest on Jack's leg. Owen would have retched again, but Tosh knew he was only providing reassurance. That was a bad year for Jack. The end of it, at least.

"You were still at One, then," Gwen prompted. Her eyes had gone soft, too.

Ianto nodded. His hand closed on Jack's leg, squeezing gently. Tosh strongly suspected it was for his own comfort this time and his next words confirmed that. "Lisa was as much in a flap as you girls are. Changed her mind about which suit I was allowed to wear at least three times." He smiled gently, a wistful smile. "I had to ban her from my wardrobe for the duration." Jack's hand moved to cover Ianto's. Both girls pretended they didn't see the way the men's fingers entwined. It was a special occasion, and they should be allowed to maintain the fiction that they Didn't Bring It Into Work.

"Don't know why Yvonne picked me, really," Ianto continued modestly. "Any of the other researchers would have done just as well."

He smiled impishly up at Jack, looking very young as he blatantly fished for compliments. The soothing touches had done their work. Jack reached forward to tousle Ianto's hair. "None of them could possibly match your charm," he said playfully

Gwen screeched and smacked Jack's hand away. "Don't mess up his hair," she scolded.

Jack removed his hand, resting it carefully by his side where Gwen wouldn't reach it if he re-offended. And where, incidentally, it was in the perfect spot for Ianto to stroke until the sting from Gwen's slap subsided.

"And I bet you looked the best in a suit, too," Jack continued, as if there'd been no intervening incidence of domestic violence.

"Not to mention a voice the BBC would kill for," Tosh added, doing her bit to add to Ianto's ever-shaky self-esteem, which was getting quite a boost today.

"You must have done a splendid job, if they requested you again," Gwen put in. "And she had Welsh ancestry, too, didn't she?"

"And Scottish, I think," Ianto answered, gathering his thoughts, which were getting quite scattered under the onslaught of attention. He was determined not to let any of this go to his head, though. Yes, a personal request from Her Majesty was quite flattering, but even that paled somewhat beside the novelty of Gwen looking at him with respect.

Ianto knew it wouldn't last, which was something of a relief. The appeal of being the centre of attention had its limits, and Ianto was rapidly approaching them. It ought, he thought reflectively, to begin winding down after today. Or after The Wedding, at least. Ianto estimated he'd be back to shoveling pteranodon poo by the end of next week.

Gwen and Tosh were still looking at him as if he had the answer to the meaning of life, though, so Ianto pulled his thoughts into order and continued.

"She was quite lovely, and took it all very well. I suppose it has to be easier when the bridegroom isn't one of those carrying the gene."

Tosh and Gwen leaned further forward, enthralled.

"I thought they all had it," Tosh said breathlessly.

The proximity of his two female team-mates was starting to make Ianto feel a bit flustered. Any closer and one or both of them would be on his lap. And Jack was still perched right in front of him. Ianto paused to wonder whether this was in fact one of his fantasies come true and concluded it was quite possible, especially given that Owen was still clattering about in the Autopsy Bay.

The girls were waiting for a response. Where was he again? Oh yes.

"Previous generations did," Ianto confirmed. "But…um….the current Monarch has been quite amenable to Torchwood's recommendations for ….um…..limiting the possibilities of …..err…."

"Inbreeding," Jack supplied breezily. He shouldn't be enjoying this, but a flustered Ianto was a very cute Ianto. "And getting some common blood into the line helped as well. Crossbreeding always helps with this sort of thing."

Ianto gulped. "It's a recessive gene," he explained. Tosh nodded. Gwen frowned.

"Tough strain, your English commons are," Jack elaborated. "Resist the gene quite nicely."

Ianto gaped. It seemed a very disrespectful way to discuss the Royal bloodline, but he couldn't think of an easier way to explain, and Gwen's perfume was making him lightheaded, so he merely plunged onwards. "Regardless of how, it seems to be working. The current generation exhibits only fifty percent inheritance of the gene."

"So half of them are werewolves," Gwen said, eyes wider than seemed humanly possible.

"Which ones?" Tosh asked eagerly.

Ianto raised an eyebrow at Jack in a silent appeal. "I only know the current generation," he hedged.

"Allow me then," Jack offered, correctly interpreting the eyebrow and deciding reluctantly to let Ianto off the hook. His Welshman had done well, but he obviously wanted to escape the spotlight, and he _did _have other responsibilities today. And now that Jack thought about it, he seemed to remember he was supposed to have conducted a team brief on this very subject. A week ago, possibly two.

The girls' eyes turned to Jack, and he felt Ianto relax even though they weren't touching anymore. A bit of an oversight, that, and it ought to be remedied. Jack's smile spread. Ianto would be very wound up by the end of the day. He was bound to need help to relax, and Jack was just the man to provide that sort of assistance.

"Actually, Owen might want to hear this, too, given the genetic aspect," Jack said briskly. He paused to bellow for the medic, then turned back. "We might as well take this into the conference room."

"Coffee all around?" Ianto offered, practically leaping for the kitchen.

Gwen's hand landed firmly on his shoulder. "Let me check the autopsy bay first," she said ominously.

"We'll meet in an hour," Jack decided. He didn't expect anyone to get any work done in the interim, but it would give Owen time to earn his coffee. And Ianto needed an opportunity to restore his hair to a level of smoothness acceptable to Gwen, who was rapidly becoming a more fearful audience than a soon-to-be princess of the Realm.

Jack watched the team disperse, and wondered how he'd fill the time until the briefing without inadvertently smudging one of the gleaming surfaces of the Hub, with the inherent risk of reawakening Gwen's wrath. Then it occurred to him that Ianto shouldn't have to wait until tonight to have his stress levels reduced, and suddenly an hour didn't seem quite long enough.

Ianto's hair was already untidy anyway.

* * *

**I've tried to make it clear who I'm referring to, but it's a bit awkward given the site's ban on using any actual people! Hope you worked it out. *winks* Feel free to PM me if anything's unclear.**


	12. Missing You

**This kind of follows on from Freedom Come, Freedom Go, because for some reason I can't seem to let go of the whole 'flat with a Jacuzzi' concept. I probably should have turned it into a fic of it's own, but then I'd have had to come up with a plot to tie the fluffy interludes together!**

**Minor warning - There's a line or two in this that might be construed as Gwen-bashing. It's not meant that way, but it's hard to write around all the flirting without arousing some sort of speculation.**

* * *

"Did he make the train?" Tosh enquired casually. She'd lost when they drew straws to decide who'd wait at the Hub until Jack returned from putting Ianto on the train to London, but secretly Tosh was quite pleased at losing. Gwen would have cheered Jack up, certainly, but conversations between those two seemed to degenerate into flirting sessions and Tosh didn't think that was what Jack really needed at the moment. Owen probably would have tried to get him drunk. Tosh just planned to listen, to be company if he needed it. Or to make herself scarce if Jack proved to have plans of his own for occupying the week his lover would be away.

"Made it with time to spare," Jack answered, his voice a match for Tosh's carefully cultivated casualness. Tosh watched him out of the corner of her eye, wondering exactly what sort of reaction he was hiding. The rest of the week hinged on whether Jack was currently depressed or relieved.

No one was surprised when Ianto was chosen to deliver Torchwood's annual report to Parliament. He was by far the most diplomatic of the team, and could be depended upon to secure their funding for another year. It didn't hurt either that his exemplary manners would see him through the obligatory afternoon tea with The Monarch. Legend had it that only intervention from the Doctor himself saved Torchwood from being disbanded the one time Jack made the visit alone. Jack refused to discuss exactly what happened. Rumors abounded, but Tosh didn't really believe the story about inappropriate advances towards the Corgis. That sounded far more like John Hart than Jack.

It was highly suspicious that the infamous 'My Son is Not Gay' statement circulated the week following that visit, though. The mind boggled to contemplate it, and shut down in defence shortly after.

No, it hadn't been unexpected for Ianto to receive the summons. The surprise was that Jack hadn't immediately produced an excuse to accompany him. Owen snarked that Jack and Ianto had been joined at the hip 'and I mean that quite literally' since they'd moved in together. It was true, in so far as Jack seemed distinctly uncomfortable whenever Ianto wasn't in sight. Tosh thought it was kind of sweet, but it did make her wonder exactly how Jack would react to the week-long separation. And she wasn't the only one.

It was currently a toss-up between noble suffering – Tosh's theory - and Owen's declaration that Jack was about to embark on a week long wallow in the pick-up joints of Cardiff. Gwen shook her head at Owen's pronouncement but after a few moment's thought had been heard to mutter that Ianto really couldn't expect a man like Jack to be …err…alone...for a whole week.

Jack smiled across at Tosh. "Waiting for me to fall into a quivering heap, Toshiko?"

Tosh couldn't help the warmth flooding her cheeks. "Not that, exactly," she stammered. "But…" Tosh didn't really want Jack to be miserable, but equally, she didn't want Ianto to have given his heart to someone who'd cheat on him the minute his back was turned. "You _will _miss him, won't you?"

Jack's smile broadened. "I take it you're not a supporter of the 'Jack can't wait to shag his way through Cardiff' party, then?"

Tosh spluttered. "Definitely not," she managed to gasp out. Jack waited, eyebrows raised in enquiry.

"That's Owen," Tosh admitted, when she'd got her breath back.

"I can't help wondering," Jack asked, leaning towards her, his eyes alight with interest. "Have you guys actually got a pool running?"

Tosh reddened, but couldn't help laughing. Not much got past Jack. "I'm supposed to report your reaction," she confessed.

Jack snickered. "You can tell the others Owen ought to be disqualified. He's been trying to talk me into a pub crawl with him all day."

Tosh's eyes sparkled. "Come on, Jack, it wouldn't be any fun if we couldn't play for our own teams, would it?"

"Is that why Gwen invited me over for dinner?" Jack asked, eyes widening.

"She might have a friend or two lined up for you to meet." Tosh informed him, giggling at his reaction. Tosh was sure that Rhys being on night shift this week was pure coincidence. She didn't believe Gwen would do _that_. Well, she couldn't believe it and still work with Gwen, which amounted to the same thing.

"So tell me," Tosh urged finally. "What _are _you going to do?"

Jack leaned back in his chair. "Of course I'll miss him," he said, answering her earlier question first. "But it is true that we've hardly had a second apart." Jack's eyes drifted, looking inward perhaps. "I think I might enjoy having the _chance _to miss him, if that makes any sense?"

Tosh smiled. They were going to be just fine.

Jack planted a kiss on Tosh's cheek, then rose. "I'm gonna head home," he announced. "Haven't had the flat to myself since we moved in. Furniture to rearrange." He winked. "Ianto doesn't approve of watching television from the Jacuzzi, but I'll move it back before he gets home." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Good thing we've got a portable phone. Ianto's gonna call when he's settled into his hotel."

Tosh blushed afresh at the implications of Jack talking to Ianto from the Jacuzzi. Though she was kind of looking forwarding to informing Gwen that Ianto hadn't really intended for Jack to…um….. 'go without', at least, not completely.

Jack laughed, kissed her other cheek, and headed for the cog, whistling a tune Tosh didn't recognize.

Tosh couldn't wait to get home, herself, but she stayed long enough to download copies of tonight's CCTV for the others. They wouldn't pay up without proof.

Maybe she'd get a Jacuzzi of her own with her winnings.

* * *

**Pointless fluff, I know. But it's a cold day here, and fluff is a better warmer-up than porridge. Hope you enjoyed it. I have bits of the Jacuzzi discussion in my head, so there might be a chapter for that, if anyone's interested?**


	13. Splish Splash

**I promised Jack in the Jackuzzi (no that wasn't a typo, it's just a indication of the pure silliness of this chapter). **

Jack ran a critical eye over the room. Candles, perhaps? He'd always liked the effect of candlelight reflecting off his pale gold skin. Still, they'd probably be overkill. Especially given the guilty realization that he never made that sort of effort when Ianto was around.

The thing was, he didn't_ need_ elaborate settings around Ianto. He didn't _notice _the setting when Ianto was here. But Ianto wasn't here. He was three hours away, shining his particular light over London instead of Cardiff.

Jack missed him. Jack missed him so much it came close to scaring him. He needed a diversion, and this was it. Ianto never had to know.

No candles, then. Jack dimmed the lights instead. Better. The sound of Errol Flynn buckling his swashes drifted through the open door. Ianto didn't share Jack's passion for the Golden Years of Hollywood. Or Errol Flynn. Tonight Jack could indulge, uninterrupted by debates over the relative merits of Errol Flynn versus Kevin Costner wearing tights that always happened whenever they attempted to watch either of the versions of Robin Hood they owned . Another guilty pleasure to add to the list.

Guilty pleasures. The thought soured the mood he'd been trying to create. In fact, looking around once more, the whole scene smacked of 'when the cat's away'. Jack sighed. A warning, and obviously he needed one, that he'd started taking his faithful Welshman for granted.

Jack stomped over to what was beginning to feel like the scene of the crime. Everything was ready. He might as well go through with it. Even if his heart wasn't in it anymore, the remainder of his body would be thankful.

He finally started relaxing into the fruits of all his planning. The pounding, perfect massaging of his skin which human fingertips could never hope to match. The voice floating over the bliss which proved it wasn't _only_ Welsh accents that turned Jack to jelly.

If only he could get Ianto to join him in this particular indulgence, it'd be perfect.

-XXX-

The ringing of the phone didn't jar at all. Jack had been expecting it. Planned for it. The house phone was diverted to his Bluetooth. He wouldn't have to move a muscle.

"Hi Ianto," Jack mumbled lazily, turning slightly so the pressure moved to another section of his back. "How was the trip?"

"Boring," Ianto answered. "And how have you filled the time while I've been gone, Jack?"

Jack swallowed uneasily. He might have been rumbled already. There was suspicion in that tone. And whoever said 'he who hesitates is lost' was right.

"You've done it again, haven't you Jack?" Ianto demanded.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Jack said, in his best fake innocent voice.

"Don't lie to me, Jack," Ianto said ominously. "I can hear voices. And bubbles."

Jack closed his eyes, accepting the guilt. "I'm sorry, Ianto."

Ianto sighed into the phone. "I know we'll never agree on this. I still say Kevin Costner is the only acceptable Robin Hood."

Jack opened his mouth to resume the argument.

"But," Ianto continued firmly. "You can watch the old version all you like, if you'd just stop doing it from the Jacuzzi. We've already had to replace the remote twice."

-XXX-

Jack grinned at the phone, seized the remote control to mute the television, and watched in silent horror as it slipped from between his wet hands to vanish amidst the churning water. At least he'd gotten the TV muted, first. And he had a week to find a replacement remote. Ianto never had to know.

"Jack?"

"Sorry, Ianto," Jack said, not sounding it. "What was that? Good bit on the TV. Didn't hear you. I've muted the set now, though. I'm all yours."

He could _hear_ the eyes rolling, he really could.

"You moved the TV again, didn't you, Jack?"

"I can't see it from the tub, otherwise," Jack explained. "You're rolling your eyes right now, aren't you?"

"Wildly," Ianto agreed. "Futile effort, right?" He sighed, and this time Jack could hear the smile. "Just make sure you dry your hands before you grab the remote, OK?"

Silence. Guilty silence. Another sigh from the other end of the phone.

"You dropped it into the tub again, didn't you Jack?"

"Ummmmm."

"I guess your hands were slippery, huh?" Ianto said.

"Well, I am in the Jacuzzi," Jack agreed. He gave a loud, theatrical sigh of his own. "And it's so empty without you."

He should have known Ianto wouldn't be swayed by the diversion.

"What were your hands slippery from, then?" Ianto asked suspiciously.

"Soap, of course," Jack said indignantly. "I wouldn't waste the other when I knew you were gonna call, would I?"

"Didn't we have a chat about soap in the Jacuzzi, Jack?"

This wasn't how Jack planned for this call to go, not at all. "Ran out of that gel," he mumbled.

Ianto sighed again. He really had an impressive range of sighs. This one signaled forgiveness, though. Well, resignation at least. "What am I going to do with you, Jack?"

Jack grinned. He knew _that _tone, too. He'd been forgiven already. On with the fun part of the evening. "Since you're asking….."

He'd been wrong. Errol Flynn's accent wasn't a patch on Ianto's.

**Hope that was as much fun to read as it was to write. Nah, couldn't have been :)**


	14. Nothing Compares

**A fairly long snippet this time. It comes with an unremitting fluff warning. 'First date' from Jack's POV.  
(****If you're trying to put any of these into a timeframe, you could think of it as a prequel to Heatwave.) **

* * *

Jack paced outside the restaurant. He was early, quite pathetically early. First he'd had to get out of the bunker before he started fixing his hair again, or changed his mind about the shirt, when two dozen (yes, he'd counted) were currently strewn across the room. Then, it wasn't long before the Hub felt just as confining as the bunker, and the restless movement seemed to make Myfanwy think Jack was playing a game, so she started swooping, which meant he had to fix his hair again after all. Jack finally left the Hub altogether after finding himself perilously close to checking just which program it was that Tosh left running.

Heads turned on the other side of the glass as Jack swept past the restaurant again. Brilliant. The people-watchers inside were starting to get curious. Any moment now, someone large and intimidating and well-paid not let themselves be flirted to distraction, would emerge to suggest that he stop cluttering up their shop-front.

And if _that _happened, how did someone like Jack Harkness explain he was waiting outside because he didn't know how he'd handle the embarrassment if his office assistant stood him up on their first date?

The problem was, Jack mused, letting his anxious feet take him a bit further along the block, that he just didn't know the etiquette for this. Rules were made to be broken, perhaps, but the art of rule-breaking lay in knowing exactly where the lines were before you stepped over them.

People constantly made the assumption that Jack had no morals. That he had no respect for relationships. It wasn't true. Of course Jack had morals. It was just that they were the ones he'd been brought up on; in a frontier settlement where spreading genetic diversity was a survival mechanism.

Besides which, morals on Earth changed every day - well, every decade - which could feel bewilderingly fast to someone who'd lived over a century. Damn, the sixties were fun, though.

Jack reached the end of the block, resisted the temptation to check his watch again, turned on his heel, and recommenced his musings. He had it partially sorted, he congratulated himself. With a woman, Jack knew exactly what to do. Old-world courtesy might not be required, but it was rarely rejected. Pick her up no more than five minutes early, no more than five minutes late. Even the late twentieth century 'empowered' woman conceded the logic of not using two cars. Jack could have taken flowers or chocolate, or both, if he felt the need to impress, and she might have been slightly uncomfortable at the excess, but not offended.

With another man, though…..Sadly enough, nearly all of his Earth-based relationships with another man had been clandestine affairs. For the longest time it was actually illegal, then there was the stage where it was socially unacceptable, then there was…now. Legal, of course. Socially acceptable – supposedly. In reality, still a minefield.

There was the homophobic segment to pacify, because however unjustified the attitude, that sort of encounter would really kill the mood. So, no overt displays, which left Jack feeling somewhat wistful. The fluttering in Jack's chest which accompanied Ianto's presence since his return cried out to be justified. Jack wanted to do it all - the flowers, the chocolates, the displays of affection which proclaimed 'I'm happy to be with you and I don't care who knows it'. But Jack had come to the regretful conclusion that Ianto wouldn't welcome any of that, at least in public, given the glares shooting across the railing of the medical bay to where Jack hovered the last time Ianto was injured in the field. Jack smiled as he remembered the compromise they'd reached - he _was_ allowed to kiss it better after Owen left. _And _he got to drive Ianto home afterwards.

The wind whipped errant leaves along the pavement, where they swirled around Jack's ankles before finding something warmer to play with. This 'meet you there' thing they'd agreed on was the pits. Next time, Jack vowed (and there _was_ going to be a next time) he'd at least narrow it down to 'meet you outside' or not. The icy wind wasn't having any problems finding its way through the greatcoat, and Jack didn't have the leather jacket as an extra layer tonight. Ianto always did that tiny shudder thing when Jack wore that particular jacket. Not that Jack was averse to making Ianto shudder – far from it – but he wasn't aiming for shudders of distaste.

Jack frowned at the restaurant door as he paced past it for what had to be the… well, he'd lost count, but it was certainly into double figures. It looked cozy in there, and warm. If he went inside, doubtless he'd be escorted to the table. But what then? When Ianto arrived, would he consider it a silent rebuke to his sense of punctuality that Jack had gone in without him? Or worse still, what if Ianto_ didn't_ arrive? What if he stood Jack up? There'd be no end to the sympathetic looks from the various wait-staff. And sure, Jack might end up with a pity date from one of them, probably less date and more action…..but that wasn't what he wanted. Not anymore.

The long years of waiting were over. Jack had found his Doctor and had his answer. It was different, returning to Earth this time. This was his choice. This was where he wanted to be, where he wanted to _stay_. After a century of being ready to flit off across the universe at a moment's notice, Jack was more than ready to settle in one place. With one person, even, now that the ring on Gwen's finger had dispelled Jack's last qualms of uncertainty.

Jack finally gave into the temptation to check his watch. Still another fifteen minutes left before Ianto was officially late for their date. Still a quarter of an hour before he had to contemplate the possibility that Ianto really had changed his mind about dating a man, about dating Jack.

The notion chilled Jack more effectively than the icy wind. It'd been hard enough to get himself to the point of asking Ianto on an actual date. He didn't know how he'd be able to face the beautiful young Welshman after being handed hard evidence they'd never be anything more than friends, with or without benefits.

With ten minutes to spare, footsteps sounded on the pavement behind Jack. Footsteps he recognized. Jack turned with a smile tingling its was across his chilled lips. It was Ianto, even if half of his face was muffled in a scarf. A red scarf, of course. Tucked into a thick grey coat which the wind was doing an admirable job of wrapping closely around Ianto's legs. Nice legs.

"You shouldn't have waited out here in the cold," Ianto chided.

"Figured it'd be less embarrassing if you stood me up," Jack answered; surprised into blunt honesty by the way Ianto's hand slid around his and tugged him towards the door of the restaurant.

Jack's heart thawed abruptly, and then rose to float along beside them as Ianto used his free hand to shove the door open. Jack's cold fingers curled around Ianto's, and he briefly cursed the gloves the other man was wearing. Jack wanted to feel skin against his own. Ianto's skin, warm and pulsing with life.

Further warmth wrapped around Jack as the door whined shut behind them. He shivered as the contrast informed him exactly how cold it was outside, but he warmed from the inside out as he felt Ianto's arm press against his ribs.

The admittedly dopey smile melted from Jack's face as he realised that Ianto wasn't so much delivering a caress as an impatient nudge. Jack collected his wits and informed the greeter than their table was booked under 'Harkness.'

There was a smile, a nod, and a "Make I take your coats, Sirs?"

Jack hesitated. Habit expected Ianto to scurry forward and relieve him of his greatcoat, but tonight was a date, and habit warred with the impulse to assist Ianto out of _his_ coat, instead. And impulse fought with caution, because an eye-roll would be a really bad way to kick off the evening.

All of which resulted in a kind of paralysis, on Jack's part, anyway, and meant they both peeled off their own outerwear. Which was a good thing, because Jack doubted he could have trusted his hands to stop at the coat.

Jack had spent some of his waiting time wondering which suit Ianto would wear tonight. He was, of course, hoping for a red shirt. But for the suit itself, Jack was spoilt for choice as to his favorite. Pinstripes had their advantages, but he really could do without the threat of drooling tonight, and Ianto was unlikely to be bending over anyway – at least, not in the restaurant. The charcoal grey jacket did amazing things for Ianto's shoulders, but the trousers which went with the black suit – well, let it be said that Jack would really like to congratulate the tailor. While finding out how he managed to make them fit like _that _without the risk of bursting the seams.

Leave it to Ianto not to do the expected. The red shirt, made from a thick dark silk which cried out to be touched, was tucked into not suit pants but dark jeans. Jeans which, while not tackily tight….obviously the tailor made jeans, too.

"At least you didn't use Torchwood," Ianto said approvingly, as they followed the black-aproned figure towards a sheltered corner table, winding their way around tall potted ferns too stiff to be real.

"I'm not Owen," Jack parried.

"Obviously not," Ianto agreed. "No force on Earth, or anywhere else, would get me on a date with Owen."

There was a brief flurry over seating, as the officious employee tried to hold a chair out for Jack while Jack was trying to hold a seat out for Ianto. Amidst much eye-rolling, Ianto sank into the nearest chair and waited for Jack to occupy the other. Jack dropped into his seat, munching on his lower lip as he wondered how much more of an idiot he could make of himself tonight.

"You look nice, Jack," Ianto said politely. Jack dragged his eyes upward, meeting blue ones dancing with amusement and something else which made Jack grateful for the way the tablecloth draped over his lap. "I like you in blue," Ianto added. That wasn't said quite so politely. The vowels, perhaps.

Blue. For a moment Jack couldn't even remember which outfit he'd spent well over an hour selecting. But yes, he'd settled on a blue shirt, hadn't he? On the basis that these unaccustomed galloping nerves were never going to concede that he looked right, in which case he might as well go with what felt comfortable. So, a blue shirt, with the black vest and trousers, and the fob watch to give it a hint of formality. None of which stopped him from feeling slightly overdressed in comparison to the man glowing at him from across the table. The man who'd just paid him a compliment and was waiting with a hint of awkwardness for Jack to say something.

Well, never let it be said that Jack Harkness was at a loss for a compliment. "Thanks," he murmured, "And you, Ianto Jones, you look….edible."

Ianto spluttered, grabbed for his water glass, found that it was empty, and spluttered some more.

"Well, you do," Jack insisted, feeling like he'd stepped back onto firm ground as Ianto's cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink. "Nothing on the menu could possibly compare," Jack continued. "A true Welsh rare-bit, you are."

A noise of what might possibly be disapproval accompanied the arrival of menus. Jack tried to believe the waiter was offended by the slight against the menu itself rather than the sound of two men flirting, because otherwise he'd have to take steps. In fact, given the way Ianto seemed to have shrunk into his seat, steps seemed quite appropriate.

"Don't," Ianto said, his voice soft but urgent. "Please Jack, just leave it."

The hand on Jack's wrist anchored him in place and drew his attention to the fact that he'd begun to rise from the table – when had that happened? Jack subsided back into his seat and followed Ianto's hand with his eyes as it retreated across the table. Ianto - his _date_ – was once again slumped against the backrest of his chair and staring fixedly at the menu in his hands, while studiously ignoring the curious glances from other patrons which had no doubt accompanied Jack's eruption from his seat.

Jack sighed. And he'd wondered if it could get worse. If not for that steadying hand on his wrist he'd probably have gotten them thrown out. "Sorry," he said softly. "I'm sorry, Ianto."

Ianto's eyes flickered up to meet Jack's. Whatever he saw looking back at him resulted in the straightening of his spine and lit a quite gratifying fire behind those blue eyes.

"Don't be, Jack," Ianto said staunchly. "That is, if you're apologizing for being yourself, then don't. And," Ianto added, flicking his menu closed with a snap. "If you're apologizing for selecting a restaurant where the wait-staff were recruited with regard to the length of the stick up their arses, well, you probably didn't know that when you booked."

A stifled sound of outrage echoed from behind the nearest potted fern. Ianto smiled angelically as the waiter re-emerged. "We haven't decided yet," he said politely. "But perhaps you could bring us a jug of water to begin with?"

Jack fought back the laughter bubbling inside him as they watched the rigid retreat of the black apron.

"Hope it's OK with you that I didn't order wine," Ianto said, as if he hadn't just sent their server off mumbling ominously under his breath. "I thought we shouldn't, just in case we get called out. The Rift's been pretty active lately."

"The world had better be ending," Jack muttered. "But yeah, you're right. And…um…"

"Eavesdroppers never hear well of themselves," Ianto said placidly.

Jack shook his head. Ianto never ceased surprising him, in increasingly pleasant ways.

"You handled it far better than I would have," he admitted with a sigh. "Which I suppose," he added ruefully, "Means you've noticed I've got no idea what I'm doing here."

Ianto's eyebrows did their thing. Several things. Jack decided that if he ended up having to complain about the waiter, he'd also congratulate them on the tablecloths.

"You're not trying to imply you've never been on a date, are you?" Ianto asked incredulously.

Jack's laughter rolled across the room, causing several heads to turn, and turn away again, expressions ranging from indulgence to forbearance to outright offence. His gaze flicked back to Ianto, looking for signs of discomfort, and finding none. At which Jack thought his heart actually swelled, mortifying as it was to experience a phenomenon straight from the pages of those trashy novels at the airport.

"Not with another man," Jack confessed, then released a softer chuckle at the suspicion in Ianto's face.

"Not with a man on Earth, in any time where it wasn't illegal," he elaborated. "I've only ever been able to date women openly. With men, it's always been hiding, or hiding in plain sight. And even now," Jack sighed, letting his gaze flicker once more around the restaurant. "Even now, when no-one has the right to actually say anything, we're getting the sniffs, and the looks."

Ianto's gaze took its own trip around the restaurant, making a much more deliberate circuit than Jack had. Jack watched with pained amusement as several pairs of eyes retreated from the unwavering blue orbs.

Ianto turned back to Jack, his lips quirking into a determined smile. "I'll never stare at animals in the zoo again," he muttered.

Jack's heart made a valiant attempt to hide under the table.

"We can leave, if you like," he offered, trying not to show his disappointment. "The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable about being here with me."

Jack didn't know what triggered it, unless it was that embarrassing hint of vulnerability which had somehow crept into his voice, but he could practically hear the vertebrae crackle as Ianto straightened again. "I haven't spent all day working myself up to restaurant-wide outrage to crumble at the first raised eyebrow," he said firmly. "Or the second, or third, for that matter."

Jack's smile lit up the room. "That's my boy," he said, in a way that should have been condescending, but wasn't.

Ianto paused to peruse his menu again, and then peered at Jack over the top of it. "I do better eyebrows than the lot of them, anyway," he confided, eyes dancing with mischief.

"You certainly do," Jack agreed, "But you shouldn't have to…."

"And some of them _were_ smiling," Ianto added encouragingly.

Jack shook his head. "I thought it would be me doing the encouragement."

Ianto smiled at him, a gentle, fond smile which shouldn't really have the power to lift Jack's spirits like that.

"To hell with them, then," Jack announced.

Of course, the waiter arrived with their water just in time to catch that. And it was true, Ianto did much better eyebrows.

They listened to the recitation of today's specials while Ianto played very deliberate eye games, which entranced Jack sufficiently to ensure he didn't remember a single one of the dishes. He was just about to fall back on carbonara when Ianto obviously decided he wasn't finished indulging the vindictive side of his personality, which Jack didn't think he'd seen before but was currently working its way into his personal list of top ten turn-ons.

"A few more minutes," Ianto suggested smoothly. "And we might have a look at the wine list, after all. Something for you to do since we've kept you waiting."

Jack didn't know Ianto could do patronizing that well, either, but he was terribly impressed. He'd damned near patted the oaf on the head without so much as twitching a finger.

The waiter stalked off again, stick much in evidence.

"Might keep him out of the way for a minute or too," Ianto murmured darkly. "Honestly, that man could write a handbook on how _not_ to get tipped." At which he buried himself behind the menu again, emerging to look enquiringly at Jack, who was yet to open his own menu. "If we order he might actually leave us alone for a while."

Jack obediently opened his menu, but he wasn't so much reading as scrutinizing Ianto over the top of it.

"I didn't expect you to be so…" he began.

Ianto smiled, waiting for Jack to sort himself out.

"I didn't know what to expect," Jack finished.

"Neither did I," Ianto agreed. "I've never dated a man before either. We'll just have to make it up as we go along, I suppose."

Jack grinned, relieved at finally recapturing an expression that didn't feel fake. "I should've known nothing would knock you off your stride, Ianto Jones."

"So you should," Ianto agreed. "Now, we have an annoying waiter about to hover and I'm running low on inspired put-downs. Have you decided?"

Jack threw his menu onto the table. "I know exactly what I want, Ianto Jones," he said, "And I was right. Nothing on this menu can possibly compare."

**Thank you for reading.**


	15. Hot and Cold

**I found this lurking in a forgotten folder. I thought I'd never write a 'Year that Wasn't' fic but looks like I already have! Not quite fluff - more like angst with fluff topping. **

**Warnings for some nasty bits including death and near-death.** **Please don't read if that will upset you.  
All will be fixed by the end.**

* * *

Papers spiraled through the air in the wake of the Tardis, driven by a wind too sharp, too icy, too _other _to have been born on Earth.

A single tear warmed a path through the dust left on Ianto's cheek by the swirling vortex as it faded and died. Ianto didn't bother wiping it away. There was a certain comfort, almost pride, in knowing this was the last tear he'd shed for the faithless Captain. No more hopes, no more illusions. He'd been a fool to think it meant something, finally, when Jack kissed him in front of the rest of the team. Jack had left them, left _him_, without so much as a wave, let alone a goodbye. So it hadn't meant anything, after all. Just another game. Another way to make sure it hurt.

Ianto supposed Jack hadn't really finished punishing him for Lisa.

-XXX-

There were no windows in the boiler room of the Valiant. Nothing much to see except various bits of metal - walls, pipes, chains. Cold metal, but never cold enough to numb. You'd have thought a boiler room would be hot, but obviously the Master had decided cold would be less comfortable.

There was nothing to look at, but Jack decided months ago that metal walls were his favorite view. Boring walls meant he was alone. Alone wasn't Jack's favorite state of being, but alone meant no one had come to play with the Freak. Alone meant Jack didn't have to summon the ever-greater effort to cloak himself in the illusion he assumed for Tish, for her family, for the few who weren't completely under The Master's thrall. For them, Jack cloaked himself with pasted-on smiles and gallows humor, a façade of sanity, projecting a false confidence to kindle a spark of hope in his fellow captives. Because, after trading weak jokes with Jack, the rest of the Master's servants would huddle together and tell each other that if Jack could cope, then so could they.

Jack kept the truth behind his eyes, behind his eyelids, and when he closed them he saw Ianto, and Ianto saw the truth with him, saw it _for_ him, and Ianto took the pain away, and kept Jack safe and warm inside his mind, while the rest of him screamed.

-XXX-

Torchwood found its feet and stumbled on as the weeks passed without Jack. Ianto decided he had to forget, put everything they had or hadn't been behind him and do it without the use of Retcon. He would push the memories into the back of his mind, forget every time Jack had made him feel like…..well, made him _feel _after all those numb weeks, months, hiding Lisa, mourning Lisa.

He _could_ forget. He would. He would try. He would find other arms to hold him, other hands to light a fire within his veins, other voices to whisper his name.

There _were_ other arms, other hands. Smaller, feminine hands, and sometimes they touched the same places, or drew the same sounds from his lips. Sometimes the other hands kindled a flicker of flame in his blood, and Ianto forgot, if only for a while, how much hotter the fire used to burn.

-XXX-

Most of the time, the boiler room hummed with noise, so constant that Jack reached the point where he could disregard the assault on his ears. But sometimes the sound of the engines died from a roar to a murmur, and other sounds bled through from outside the ship's skin. Jack learned to dread those times, for all that his senses sobbed in relief at the relative silence. Because the ship only stilled so the Master could gloat over another victory.

This time, as the Master summoned everyone up on deck to watch another country being destroyed, Jack tried to tell himself that the howling outside was just the wind wrapping around the ship. But the part of his mind which wasn't sunk in denial knew he was hearing the echoes of screams drifting up from below, as the islands of Japan burned.

The sounds grew louder as the ship drifted lower. The metal on his Jack's wrists and against his back began to lose its chill. For a moment he was almost comfortable. They were closer to the surface, to give the gleeful minions and the unwilling captives a better view. Closer to the incineration of another proud, ancient culture. Jack fought against his restraints as the heat from outside crept into the ship, leaching into the metal of the chains and cuffs. When the ship was empty the Master didn't bother with niceties like insulation or climate control for the areas where he kept his pets, his freaks, the ones that would survive anything.

Jack smelled his skin burning and tried to hide in his memories. He scrabbled through his head for Ianto, finding nothing to link to the scent of cooking flesh, because they'd never done dates, never done domestic, but they would, they would if he got back, _when_ he got back….. Jack fled back, back, back into the past, clutching to the memory of Sunday roasts, back when he was married, back when he'd dared to try being happy, back when he was safe. Skin blistered and crackled, and by the time he couldn't feel anything at all Jack had at least found a pleasant memory to take into the dark with him.

-XXX-

They debated long and fiercely about the summons to the Himalayas. Outside the Government, they reminded each other, so they didn't have to obey. But Torchwood was a ship without its Captain, and the former Defense Minister could be trusted at the helm, couldn't he? And they'd all voted for Saxon, so in a way they'd already accepted his leadership.

Owen's skill saved them from succumbing to frostbite, but they were too numb from the cold to be grateful, and who needed fingers and toes when hypothermia was just a dream away?

At least it didn't hurt, Ianto thought vaguely, as the cold numbed him past feeling, chilled him to the point where ice began to burn. Memories danced across his fading vision, memories mingled with dreams, Jack wrapped his arms around him, and Ianto vanished in a fold of greatcoat, warm and safe at last.

-XXX-

The metal had cooled by the time Jack returned to his waking nightmare. No more wind, no more screaming. The islands of Japan were gone, burnt to a crisp the way that one roast had been, when he'd come back home after two weeks away on a mission and the joint had cooked unnoticed, forgotten in the joy of reunion. Below, another culture died, another part of humanity was erased. Jack hoped Tosh wasn't down there, but she might have been, oh she might have been, with the rest of the team beside her, perhaps. And it hurt, oh it hurt. Hurt more than the healing burns from the cuffs around his wrist. Hurt more than the sloughing away of the melted fabric on his back which had fused into his shedding skin.

Jack closed his eyes and took himself to the place where he could heal in Ianto's arms, smiling even in the midst of his fantasy because Ianto felt so cool against his scalded flesh. And every time he healed and died and woke again Jack clung to the thought that if Ianto was cold he couldn't have been in Japan, couldn't have burnt, and that meant the rest of the team was safe too.

-XXX-

It wasn't Jack's coat, after all. It wasn't the soft old wool drawing him back from the grip of the ice. It was blanket. Just a scratchy old blanket, wielded by a doctor. _A_ doctor, not _The_ Doctor, but close enough. A doctor who'd traveled with the Doctor. A doctor who wore Jack's treasured vortex manipulator, and had followed its urgent signals to a cave halfway up a mountain. The Torchwood team huddled together, their bodies thawing slowly, their hearts warming faster from this proof that Jack hadn't deserted them after all, at least not completely.

Her name was Martha, and she was the doctor who would help The Doctor save them all, including Jack, if they would only believe.

Ianto hadn't had a huge store of faith to begin with. Lisa drained most of it and whatever she'd left began running out when Jack ran out on them all. When the time came he closed his eyes and hoped what was left would be enough.

-XXX-

Ianto woke in his bed, wracked with shivers but drenched in sweat. The nightmare had been so graphic, so real. His fists were clenched around handfuls of his duvet, and the softness was reassuring, given that he'd somehow expected to be clutching a scratchy blanket instead.

Ianto moved sluggishly through his morning routine, still working on dispelling the uneasy grip of his nighttime vision. He wondered if perhaps he was getting sick, suffering from something more fever dream than genuine nightmare.

If that was the case, he mused as he tied his tie, then it was lucky for him they'd ignored that summons from the Prime Minister. It'd be miserable trekking around Nepal if he was getting sick.

As Ianto made his morning coffee, the radio announcer babbled about the death of the Prime Minister. Ianto shook his head and wondered why he'd voted for that tosser in the first place. He drank his coffee slowly, wrapping his hands around the mug to warm them, because he wouldn't be home long enough for the heater to make a difference, and the one who used to warm him right through was gone.

The roads were icy this morning, which was another good thing, because navigating the frost-laced roads was almost enough to stop Ianto wondering again whether Jack ever thought about them, wherever he was. Whether Jack ever thought about _him_.

-XXX-

The office lights were dim, saving energy, Jack supposed. And he assumed they dropped the air-conditioning overnight, too. Because Jack's hands were shaking just the slightest bit as he followed Ianto around the scattered desks, and it had to be from the cold, because Captain Jack Harkness didn't get nervous about asking someone on a date.

But they'd never dated, never done domestic, and he'd regretted that for so long, and it was a regret easily addressed, if his voice would just stop shaking even more than his hands were.

"…_.Dinner….A movie…."_

Jack watched the heat rise in Ianto's cheeks, and it warmed him right through. Who needed climate control when they could have a Welshman?

-XXX-

Ianto woke, cold and sweat-soaked again. But the sweat was leftover from a much more pleasant activity than a nightmare, and doubtless he was cold because Jack had stolen the duvet – again.

Except the duvet was nowhere to be seen and beside him Jack thrashed in his sleep. Ianto sighed, concern banishing all the witty comments regarding sheet-thieves. Another nightmare.

Jack woke to the feel of strong arms around him, the sound of a voice murmuring soothing nonsense into his ears, and the sight of anxious blue eyes looking into his own.

"Jack? Are you OK?"

"Cold," Jack murmured, trying to snuggle closer to the warm body beside him.

"You threw the duvet off," Ianto explained, evading the grasping arms as he slipped away to retrieve it from the floor.

Jack settled back against the pillows, feeling quite indecently satisfied as Ianto draped the retrieved duvet around them both. They _were_ dating. They _were_ doing domestic. How many people actually got to have their dreams come true?

"Are you still cold?" Ianto asked. "Or maybe you're too warm. Maybe that's why you threw the duvet off…"

A cool hand rested briefly on Jack's forehead, checking for fever the way no-one had since he was a child. He thought he'd probably tire of the fussing one day, but not yet.

Jack peeled the hand off his forehead and arranged it back around his waist. He was tired and for the first time he could remember it felt safe to sleep. Ianto had chased the waking nightmares away from a whole year, and now he was doing the same for the sleeping ones.

Jack yawned and snuggled into the welcoming arms. "Not cold," he mumbled. "Not hot. Just right."

Ianto blinked away tears as Jack's eyes drifted closed. He'd sworn never to shed another for Jack, but it looked like that would be another promise he wouldn't keep. Ianto tightened his arms protectively around his sleeping lover and kissed the top of the head nestled trustingly against his chest.

"Sleep, Goldilocks," Ianto whispered. "I've got you."

**Hope the happy ending made up for the angst.**


	16. Sitting on the dock of the bay

**Be warned. Pure silliness ahead.  
**_I was thinking that Jack sending Gwen to protect Ianto's family in CoE wasn't solely in honor of Ianto, which is kind of serious thinking, and I don't quite know how it turned into...this…._  
**Hope you enjoy anyway.**

* * *

The kids were settled down with a DVD and kettle was just boiling. Which of course created the perfect moment for the bloody phone to ring.

Rhiannon sighed with irritation and reached for the handset, slightly mollified by the number on the display. She couldn't blame Susan for wanting to check how her son was coping with his first sleepover.

Rhiannon propped the phone between ear and shoulder while she finished making her cuppa. If she knew Susan, and she did, this wasn't going to be a short chat.

"Hi Luv, he's doing well," Rhiannon said, pre-empting the inevitable stream of questions. "Done all his homework, helped my lot with theirs, and now they're all watching …um _Cars _I think. That one with the red…."

"_Bloody Hell, Rhi, will you __**listen**__? I haven't got long. Dafydd's just popped out for a smoke between entrée and main…"_

Hearing the oh-so-prim Susan swear was more than enough to focus Rhiannon's attention. "Sorry, love," Rhiannon said, as apologetically as one can while juggling a phone and a scalding cup of tea. "I'm listening now." And within seconds she was. The tea rested forgotten on the counter.

"_My_ Ianto?" Rhiannon felt her voice switch from a drawl to a squeak. "He's on a date! Oh, that's _lovely_."

And it _was_ lovely. Lovely enough to have her eyes misting. Lovely enough to bring the sour taste of regret to mingle with the tears burning at the back of her throat. Rhiannon's concentration drifted again as Susan rattled on in the background of her memories.

Her little brother was dating again. Moving on with his life, finally, just when Rhiannon was starting to believe he'd pine for his Lisa forever. Ianto had become been so withdrawn since he'd lost Lisa in that terrorist attack. Hardly ever called, only visited when he ran out of excuses to stay away. Rhiannon had tried to be there for him, she really had, but they'd grown apart since Dad died. The gulf between Daddy's Little Girl and the son who never quite measured up was hard to bridge, especially when Ianto didn't seem willing to meet her half way.

Rhiannon knew deep inside it was partly her own fault. She'd accepted his excuses too easily, believed him when he said he was managing. She _could_ have made more effort. She'd promised Mam to always look after her little brother, but she'd told herself he was long grown up, and Johnny and kids took up so much of her energy. Sometimes it felt like too much effort even to lift the phone, particularly when she knew that more often than not it'd be the machine that answered. Still, she _had_ tried, and she couldn't help feeling hurt that Ianto hadn't told her he was getting serious about someone. And it had to be serious if Ianto was treating her to that French place near the memorial Susan had been nagging Dafydd about for months.

The chatter died to silence as Susan paused, obviously waiting for a reaction. Rhiannon hastily consulted her memory.

"He's _what_?"

-XXX-

Susan smiled her satisfaction into her phone. She had Rhiannon's attention now, good and proper. "Yes, Rhi, I'm sure. No woman's getting her feet under that table, I can tell you. No, truly, I'm not imagining. He's just taken a taste off the other bloke's fork for goodness sake. _No_, love, while he was still holding it." Susan giggled. "It explains why Ianto never called our Rebecca after last Christmas. Terribly disappointed she was, but you can't expect him to explain _that _over turkey and crackers with the neighbors, now can you?"

Susan paused to listen to the gratifying stream of words from the other end of the phone.

"Oh, he's_ gorgeous_, Rhi, like a model or a movie star. Young Ianto always had good taste; I'll say that for him. Yeah, sure, I'll send you a photo now. Call me back when you get it."

Susan leaned back in her chair, trying to look casual as she angled her phone towards Ianto's table. The men moved as the shutter clicked, but it was quite an illuminating shot, so she sent it anyway. She was just trying for another when the phone rang.

"_Susan, what the hell are you playing at? I wanted to see the bloke's face. This is the back of Ianto's head!"_

Susan smiled angelically. "The two were sharing the same airspace, sweetheart."

The silence on the other end of the line was immensely satisfying. Susan didn't really want to hang up yet, but a waft of cool air signaled the opening of the balcony door, and she straightened quickly as her husband loomed in the opening.

"Listen, Rhi, I've got to go. Dafydd's coming back. I'll send you a better shot as soon as I can, OK?"

While Dafydd lowered his bulk into his chair, Susan risked a quick shot over his shoulder. Much better. She sent the photo and smiled happily at her husband. This really was a brilliant evening, and mains hadn't even arrived yet.

-XXX-

Jack stomped across the Plass, hoping a walk would help him work off his irritation. Sweat beaded along his collar, making him wish he'd left the coat behind. Trust Cardiff to turn on a sunny day just when he was he in the mood for brooding. Brooding alone, and not by choice.

Jack paused to swap the paper package from one arm to the other. He wasn't hungry anymore. Might as well throw it away. Fish and chips by the bay lost their appeal without someone to share them with.

He'd bought grilled fish, too. Jack preferred battered, but he'd chosen grilled because Ianto liked it. After which he'd swooped into the tourism office with what might have been a fatuous smile splitting his face, to steal his lover away for lunch in the rare burst of Cardiff sunshine.

But Ianto already had lunch plans. Ianto had lunch plans which didn't involve Jack.

It was totally unfair for the man to worm his way this far under Jack's skin and then make a lunch date with someone else.

It was almost enough to make a man rethink the whole anti-monogamy thing.

Lost in thought, Jack collided with a woman strolling in the other direction. He mumbled apologies while his eyes did their usual head-to-toe appraisal. Not even a hot young thing he could distract himself with. She wasn't bad looking, but Jack wasn't into the motherly type.

Jack wasn't used to having the motherly type appraise him as though he'd come in on the sole of her shoe, either.

"Can I help you?" Jack asked, fairly politely, given his mood. He wouldn't even have made that much of an effort, except that he'd just come out of the tourism office, and they couldn't risk someone complaining again. Not after what happened the last time Owen filled in while Ianto was having a well-earned day off.

The woman peered up into Jack's face, and then nodded. Her mouth set into a determined line, which reminded Jack of something – or some_one_.

"You can, at that," she said decisively. "You can help me work out what the hell you're doing with my brother."

-XXX-

"Ianto's sister," Jack repeated. This was awkward, but somehow not as much as it ought to be. Once he'd finished spluttering, it'd felt quite natural to settle here, on the bench he often shared with Ianto, with the bundle of fish and chips between them.

"I didn't know….. I mean, he hasn't….ah…." OK, maybe it_ was_ awkward.

"He's never mentioned me?" Rhiannon supplied. Jack nodded, somewhat uneasily. Yep, awkward.

"I'm not surprised, I suppose." Rhiannon confided. "I've not always looked out for him as I should have." Jack tactfully didn't mention the sudden shine in her eyes.

"But that doesn't mean I can't start, does it? Only," Rhiannon paused, trying to express her feelings through the circling motions of her hands. "Only, he'd probably think I was interfering, if he knew I was….um…."

"Sussing me out?" Jack supplied, favoring Ianto's sister with his trademark grin, in the hopes it would work as well on her as it did on her sibling.

"Well, yeah," Rhiannon agreed, casually stealing a chip. "Hmm, not bad. So, don't tell him I was here, OK? I'd rather wait until he's ready to tell me about you himself, if that's all right."

Jack nodded. He didn't fancy keep another secret from Ianto, but he didn't fancy crossing his sister either. And Ianto obviously wasn't ready for Jack to meet his family yet. Or maybe, Jack thought uneasily, maybe he'd given Ianto the impression he didn't do family stuff. Not that he did, usually. But since he'd already met her…Well, he could work on that. Regardless, it was better to let it happen when Ianto was ready. Or at least let him believe that. Jack ate some fish and tried to get his mind back into order.

"So do I pass muster?" Jack asked eventually.

Rhiannon chuckled. "Haven't decided yet whether he's been blinded by a pretty face."

Jack's laughter scared the lurking seagulls into flight.

"Not that he's the type for that," Rhiannon continued. "Or," she corrected herself, with a definite note of sadness, "He didn't used to be."

Jack sobered. "He sees past my face better than anyone I've ever known, and believe me, that's saying something."

Rhiannon examined him intently for a moment, mind obviously working behind brown eyes suddenly as enigmatic as her brother's. Jack found himself twitching. He wanted this woman's approval desperately, and he had no idea why it mattered so much. OK, maybe he did, but he didn't want to admit it.

Inspection concluded, Rhiannon nodded briskly. "If he's putting in that sort of effort, Captain Harkness, you might be worth his while, after all."

As benedictions go, it wasn't much of one, but Jack's mood improved considerably anyway. They exchanged grins, argued over the same chip, and basked companionably in the sun, sharing the atmosphere of a mission accomplished.

"So it's you he's meeting today, is it?" Jack asked, carefully casual.

Rhiannon stole another chip and squinted up at him. "If I said No, would you be jealous?"

"I'm not the jealous type," Jack hedged, eyes fixed firmly on the horizon.

Rhiannon laughed. "Of course not." She tilted her face up to the sun, trying not to smile too hard. "No need for that, with a face like yours. You could pull half a dozen handsome Welsh lads, no worries."

Jack broke the ensuing silence by tossing a handful of chips at the encroaching seagulls. Rhiannon used the cover of the resultant feathered free-for-all to inspect him carefully out of the corner of her eye, the way she did when she didn't want the kids to know she was watching them. Having concluded he'd crack in his own good time, she leaned back against the bench and enjoyed the sunshine. The technique never failed to extract a confession from David when he'd broken something; it'd work fine with this overgrown kid her brother had taken on. Ianto always had a thing for mending broken wings, even as a boy. A passion they'd shared, back before Tad decided nurturing was girls' stuff.

"I don't want a dozen others," Jack admitted finally.

Rhiannon patted his hand. She tried to keep her smile approving rather than triumphant, but it was a wasted effort. Some smirks couldn't be contained.

"I won't eat any more of your chips," she announced, after a suitable pause. "Don't want to ruin my lunch."

"Because Ianto will be upset if you don't eat with him?" Jack said hopefully.

"And he'll treat me to something a bit more fancy than chips," Rhiannon agreed.

Jack really was handsome, especially when he smiled like that.

-XXX-

Jack found himself fighting the impulse to take Rhiannon's hand as they strolled back towards the Hub. She looked absolutely nothing like her brother, but somehow this woman exuded the same air of ….. whatever the hell it was that made Jack drop his barriers whenever he stopped concentrating on holding them in place.

Jack halted in the shadow of the water tower. "It's probably better if I go in through another entrance," he explained, annoyed by the way his feet shuffled.

"It was nice meeting you," Rhiannon said politely, extending a hand. Jack was sure she was rolling her eyes, but he couldn't tell for sure, given the decorous tilt of her head.

Jack took the offered hand and squeezed it within his own. Now he was resisting the urge to plant a - oh hell, it was definitely brotherly, and wasn't that a daunting concept? – kiss on her cheek.

"You too," he said warmly.

Rhiannon smiled her brother's smile at him. Jack felt something break, and mend. Acceptance was a heady drug.

"I hope it won't be long before we can meet properly," Jack blurted, through the crack in his composure. He wasn't sure if it was worse that he sounded needy, or that he didn't care how needy he sounded.

"So do I," Rhiannon agreed solemnly. She stretched up on her tiptoes, and Jack's cheek warmed from the press of her lips against it. Surely he couldn't be blushing?

Rhiannon chuckled as she drew away. "But I'll know what to do to you if you hurt him," she said. "Been trained for it and all. So watch yourself, if you value your valuables."

Jack frowned at the departing figure. "Threats should make more sense than that," he called after her.

Rhiannon stopped and backtracked far enough to be heard without shouting. Her eyes held a twinkle that Jack knew well, except he was used to seeing it in blue.

"If you'd ever talked to my brother about his family, you'd already know," she said reprovingly. "Do your homework, Jack Harkness. Find out what sort of payback you'll get if you cross me."

-XXX-

Jack draped himself over the arm of the couch and watched as Ianto repaired yet another tear in the long-suffering greatcoat.

"I didn't realize you've been fixing it yourself," Jack commented, half-mesmerized by the flashing needle.

Ianto looked up and shrugged. "Tad taught me," he explained, before dropping his eyes back to his task.

Jack's ears pricked up. Here was the opening he needed to answer Rhiannon's parting challenge.

"Breeding his own team of tailors, was he?" Jack asked, trying for casual.

The needle stopped with a jerk. Ianto swore softly at the effect on the fraying threads. Jack tensed, afraid he'd touched a nerve, then relaxed as Ianto chuckled softly.

"He tried," Ianto agreed. "I didn't mind, but my sister hated every minute. Well, until she found a use for it. Nothing like what Tad expected, though."

And with that, Ianto returned to the sewing.

Jack shifted impatiently. "Go on then," he urged. "Tell me the rest."

Ianto looked up again, and was surprised and slightly flattered to have Jack's undivided attention.

"She worked for an animal refuge," he explained. "Taking in strays and such. The vets all used to request her as their assistant because she was so neat sewing up the wounds." Ianto paused to chuckle again. "Terror of the tom cats, they called her."

Jack blinked. "How does one terrify a tom cat?"

Ianto fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing his legs, which would have distracted Jack completely except for the delightful blush which accompanied the fidgeting.

"She used to brag that the vets got through four castrations an hour, with her help," Ianto explained quickly, crossing his legs again. Jack gulped and found himself copying the action.

It didn't even help to know that they'd grow back. At least, he assumed they would. Maybe he'd have to die first? Which in this case would be worth it.

"Sounds like your sister's nearly as dangerous as you are," Jack said weakly. He'd written her off as the motherly type, which proved the folly of relying on first impressions. Mother bear; perhaps, and there was nothing more fearsome.

It was a good thing Jack had no intentions of harming her cub.

Ianto nodded and winced. "Probably more so. And really, Jack, it's not any better remembering than it was hearing her talk about it, so can we change the subject now? Although," and Ianto's voice changed completely. "We might want to spend some time appreciating….ah…what we've got…." And there was that blush again.

"In honor of all the cats that don't," Jack agreed. He didn't wait for a further invitation. It wasn't wise to cross a Jones, and he'd be all the safer if Ianto valued _his_ valuables too.

**See, really silly! Fun though, at least I hope so. Thank you for reading.**


	17. Hungry Heart

**I thought I'd left the boys in the jacuzzi, but they're back, by request. So RedPaintLaugh, this is for you!**

**Takes place a week after Splish Splash. Have fun, I did. **

* * *

Ianto gave the crowded platform a last, lingering inspection and ordered himself to stop being ridiculous. On a miserably cold evening like this, it was selfish and unreasonable to expect Jack to drag himself out when he'd probably only just gotten home, assuming he'd even left the Hub yet.

Ianto sighed and slung his garment bag over a shoulder. Lying to himself was pointless. Admitting the truth wasn't much better. He'd missed Jack desperately the whole week he'd been away, and he was hurt that Jack hadn't come to meet him.

Ianto told himself firmly that he was being stupid, but it didn't work any better than the dozen other times he'd done it since stepping out of the carriage. It was all Owen's fault. The medic had been relentless in his cutting remarks before Ianto left for London, playing on the insecurities Ianto never admitted to. The one about the tom cat playing while the house mouse was away was even quite clever, for Owen.

He hadn't said anything to Jack about his misgivings. He trusted Jack, of course he did. Ianto still choked up slightly when he remembered the night Jack offered that promise of fidelity. It wasn't something Jack gave lightly, and he'd be terribly hurt to know about the doubts plaguing Ianto, just because Owen had a smart mouth.

Ianto reminded himself that he had no reason to be suspicious, that he had in fact plenty of evidence to the contrary. They'd spoken every night he'd been away, and it hadn't been the short, duty-bound type of call so many coup…..people…. complained about. No soppy declarations of how much each missed the other, either. They weren't comfortable with stuff like that. But there _had_ been plenty of laughter, endless innuendo, and a definite reluctance when the time came to hang up. Even the night they were interrupted less than five minutes in by a Rift alert, Jack called back later. _Much_ later. Ianto was already in bed when the phone rang, which proved quite convenient. Ianto smiled as even the memory brought a flush of heat to his cheeks. He really was being silly. Jack had no reason to stray, not even a physical one.

Ianto shoved any lingering doubts to the back of his mind and told them to stay there as he took a fresh grip on the handle of his suitcase and headed for the exit. He was quite capable of getting himself home. That's what taxis were for, for goodness sake. The wheels of his suitcase emitted a rapid series of squeaks as he dragged it behind him towards the exit.

The sound of heels skittering on the damp paving brought Ianto's head snapping up.

"Oh good, you're still here," Tosh panted, sliding to a halt nearby, one hand rubbing at the stitch in her side. "The traffic was ridiculous, and I never realized how big the SUV is, had to park _miles_ away." She paused for breath, and then smiled broadly at her bemused colleague. "That's my excuse for being late, and I'm sticking to it."

Ianto smiled at her, dodged the attempt to take his garment bag, and mumbled his thanks while he tried to think of a way of asking where Jack was that wouldn't sound ungrateful. And failed.

Tosh reined in her amusement as she watched Ianto struggle not to show how disappointed he was that she'd turned up to greet him instead of Jack. Poor love. Never mind, it wouldn't last long.

They chatted amiably as Tosh led the way across the brightly lit car park, catching up on the happenings of the week as they weaved their way through streams of commuters intent on reaching their own vehicles. The distance to the SUV wasn't a bad thing after all, Ianto reflected. Perhaps the bottleneck of cars choking every exit would clear by the time they attempted to make their own escape.

Once in the sanctuary of the SUV, Tosh decided she'd let him suffer for long enough.

"I suppose you've wondering why I came instead of Jack," she said shrewdly. "Would it help to know I'm about to text him so he knows we're on our way?"

Ianto made flustered noises. Tosh giggled as her thumbs danced across the keys of her phone.

"It's supposed to be a surprise," Tosh confided impishly, while they were waiting their turn at escaping from the tangle at the car park exit. "You know, let you wallow in disappointment for a while, thinking you're coming home to an empty flat. Jack had it all planned, he's even told me what sort of Rift alert he's supposedly attending. But I know you hate surprises, so….act surprised when he's waiting for you, OK?"

Ianto gaped at her. "Err….I _am_ surprised," he confessed. "Only, I don't know whether I'm more surprised by whatever he's up to, or at you disregarding his orders."

Tosh vented her opinion on that via a delicate sniff. "It's not work, so it wasn't an order."

"And more to the point," she added, with a dangerous glint her in eye Ianto was more accustomed to seeing in Owen's presence. "I'm not letting you ruin this for him." At which she turned her attention back to the traffic, pointed the car at a gap and floored the accelerator.

Ianto concluded he wasn't going to get control of his jaw muscles back anytime soon, and simply gaped some more.

"Please tell me you like sushi," Tosh called, over the roar of the engine. "And sashimi."

"Love them," Ianto agreed. He sank back against his seat and tried to let it all wash over him as Tosh channeled Jack in the drivers' seat. The universe had obviously decided nothing would make sense tonight, and who was Ianto Jones to argue with the universe?

There were back onto quiet roads and Tosh was tired of trying to keep her face straight. She loved these two men, she really did, but between them they drove her to distraction.

"Um…why though?" Ianto asked cautiously.

Tosh shot him a sideways glance. "Because I've spent most of the day teaching Jack how to prepare them," she answered, her whole being exuding a distinctive air of martyrdom. "Why he couldn't just buy some, I've no idea. But no, first we were up with the sparrows at the fish market. Then he overcooked the rice. Twice. The second time while I was out buying more mirin because Owen thought it was sake and drank it all and Jack got distracted helping Gwen when she thought the wasabi was avocado...And _that_ was just while we were still in the Hub."

Ianto laughed. He couldn't help it. It was that or cry.

"And so we come to setting up the flat," Tosh continued, finally letting her amusement show in her voice. "Where Jack decides none of the tablecloths are soft enough. Or the wrong shad of red. So I'm off trying to get a new one before the shops close. I've never spent so much time behind the wheel of this car as I have today, I swear. And I also swear, Ianto," she concluded, with a decidedly dangerous glance, "That if you make a single comment about any of the nori rolls not being symmetrical, I'll strangle you with the belt of the kimono I hope you remembered to bring back with you."

Ianto nodded, blinking away tears from what he'd pretend was mirth. Jack had asked him to buy one several times during the week, even told him in which London alleyway he'd find just the right shop. Ianto was ashamed to recall his resentment at the errand, only now accepting he'd been suspicious of whom the gift was intended for. And he was quite glad he couldn't decide between the red and the blue, and ended up buying both.

"I bought one for him, too," Ianto told Tosh.

She nodded approvingly. "Just make sure you tell him you couldn't decide, or something along those lines," she warned. "Don't let on you had any idea what he was up to."

"I didn't," Ianto said fervently. "I really didn't. I still don't, for that matter."

Tosh smiled across at him, a particularly gentle smile. "He really missed you, Ianto. I know he'll pretend otherwise, and so will you, no doubt. But he did."

Ianto swallowed heavily. "So did I," he admitted.

They pulled up outside Ianto's flat. This time he didn't argue when Tosh offered to carry the garment bag while he lugged his suitcase up the stairs. The lift had been unreliable just before he'd left, and Ianto didn't want to risk getting stuck between floors, not tonight.

"Here we are, then," Tosh said cheerfully. "Have a good night."

Ianto froze with his key in the lock. "Aren't you coming in?"

Tosh shook her head firmly. "Tonight's for the two of you, Ianto. Anyway, I've got to get back to mine. I've heard so much about your Jacuzzi that I've ordered one of my own, and Rhys is getting it delivered tonight."

She hugged him fiercely before she left, her eyes bearing yet another twinkle that Ianto couldn't interpret. Ianto smiled his goodbyes and exhaled deeply as his turned key in the lock. It was good to be home and he strongly suspected it was about to get better.

"Welcome back," Jack said, with an attempt at coyness which didn't have a hope of working. Ianto's eyes made a determined attempt to exit their sockets, which would have been a shame, really, since there was quite a lot worth looking at. Ianto couldn't help wondering whether Tosh helped with the geisha makeup. He supposed that would explain why she'd giggled all the way down the staircase.

Ianto also understood Jack's request for a soft tablecloth. A reasonable request, given that he was currently lying on it.

And the sushi was lying on Jack. Sushi, sashimi, and a variety of handrolls. With a patch of something that had to be wasabi resting in the hollow of his collarbone. Tosh was right, some of the nori rolls couldn't exactly be called rolls, but what did that matter? The lack of symmetry might help them stay in place until Ianto got around to eating them.

Ianto moved closer, too busy devouring the feast spread out before him with his eyes to contemplate bringing any of it to his mouth, just yet.

"You make a lovely serving platter," he commented, in a voice already ragged. His luggage hit the floor with a thump only equaled by the volume of the door as he kicked it shut behind him. This was something the neighbors shouldn't see. This was his. All of it. All of _him_.

"I live to serve," Jack agreed, tilting his neck awkwardly so he could see Ianto over the food spread out across his chest. "Fancy some sushi?"

Ianto selected a delicate slice of salmon from one shoulder and fed Jack the tuna roll which fell from the other when the platter shuddered in response to his method of extracting wasabi, given the lack of cutlery.

Ianto swallowed. "Very nice," he approved. "But if you don't mind, I think I'll move on to the sweetbreads."

* * *

**I know, it just gets worse. :) I've already made a start of the 'offering fidelity' piece which will level the silliness factor. Hope you enjoyed.**


	18. Only You

**This chapter contains the 'moment' mentioned in Hungry Heart (last chapter). Extreme fluff. Sweetness levels equivalent to fairy floss****.**

* * *

It was just an ordinary moment, at the end of an extraordinary day, but it changed everything.

Ianto supposed it was far too ordinary to be the change Jack kept warning them about, which was just as well, because he wasn't sure whether he was ready.

And he didn't care. At least he thought he didn't.

-XXX-

It began with two men sitting on the couch in Ianto's flat, comfortably entangled, both in their own way processing the events of the day.

Ianto nudged one of the couch cushions with his foot. "I'd like to take this with us," he said hesitantly. The uncertainty didn't really relate to the almost-new piece of furniture, which he'd bought when they'd both gotten sick of being cramped up on his old two-seater. It was more that he was strangely reluctant to pursue Jack's suggestion that they move into a new place together. Talking about it would make it real. Talking about it would, moreover, give Jack a chance to renege.

Jack nodded idly, eyes following the hand tracing a path along Ianto's arm. "I like this couch," he agreed. "Maybe we should get a matching armchair or two, 'cause the living room's pretty big. We'll need more stuff to fill it. Hell, we might even have guests sometimes."

Ianto's heart swelled agreeably. Jack's hand twined itself through his own, then squeezed, unexpectedly firm after the gentle stroking.

"I had no right to talk that way, though," Jack muttered, his eyes still fixed on their entwined hands.

Ianto's heart shrank back to its normal size, possibly somewhat smaller.

"Impulse," he suggested, trying to keep his voice firm. He wasn't disappointed, he really wasn't. He'd expected something like this to happen when he raised the issue, after all. And he wouldn't hold Jack to an impulsive offer. They'd been quite happy living separately all this time. It didn't have to change. This wasn't a step backwards, however much it might feel that way.

"So…..It's probably too late to call the agent back….um… Evie, wasn't it?"

Jack turned to him with a frown. "What's it got to do with her?"

Ianto blinked. "OK," he said, defeated, with a heart that no longer had any idea what to do, except keep beating until Jack chose to enlighten him as to what was going on in his immortal head this time. "Let's just admit I've got no idea what you're talking about, shall we? Again."

"I got all possessive," Jack explained, returning his gaze to its inspection of their hands. "I shouldn't have done that, should I? I made it sound like I own you or something…...And we haven't even said anything about being exclusive…..I've got no right to expect…"

Ianto swallowed, the pounding in his head drowning out the rest of the babble. He'd _liked_ knowing Jack was jealous of the attention the agent had showered Ianto with during their inspection of that flat today. Jack obviously expected him to be annoyed by it, instead. Ianto sighed. He supposed it was naïve to assume that Jack's offer to co-habit implied an offer of fidelity, too.

He should have known better, really. It wasn't the first time they'd bumped into something like this, and Ianto thought he'd taught himself to stop assuming these relationship milestones meant the same to Jack as they did to him. Obviously he hadn't been as successful as he'd thought, after all, if the way his stomach seemed to be trying to relocate into his socks was any indication.

"But I hate the thought of you being with anyone else," Jack continued fretfully. His hand tightened around Ianto's. The forced chuckle he produced was a rueful, ragged imitation of Jack's usual joyous laugh. "Guess I can't brag anymore that 51st century humans have evolved past jealousy, huh?"

Ianto smiled at him, or tried to. He doubted it was any more convincing than Jack's laugh, especially given the concern creasing Jack's face as he finally looked up.

"But I don't want to have to share you, Ianto," Jack said, eyes flicking between face and hands so quickly Ianto might have become dizzy if he wasn't already so confused. "And I know I can't ask for that from you unless I'm willing to give it, too. So…if that's what you want….I mean, if that's what it'll take…..."

Ianto smiled again, somewhat painfully this time. Temptation dangled within reach. All he had to do was agree. With a single word, Ianto could make Jack promise fidelity in return for his own. Jack didn't break his promises. With this one small piece of manipulation Ianto could quiet his own demon of jealousy forever.

But not the demon of guilt. Ianto knew he wouldn't do it. That he _couldn't_ do it. He wanted this, oh, how he wanted it, but not _like_ this. He didn't want to trap Jack into a vow he'd probably regret, just to obtain something freely given long ago, whether Jack knew it or not.

"There hasn't been anyone else since you came back, Jack," Ianto said sincerely.

Jack's smile was blinding. "Really?"

Ianto nodded. He'd followed his conscience. He'd made Jack happy. That was worth a small sacrifice, wasn't it? Only, Ianto already doubted that the knowledge of his own virtue would keep him warm when Jack was off shagging his way through Cardiff. Especially when he came home to _their _bed smelling like an alley cat afterwards. Still, done was done. Jack's smile was real, now. And now was what mattered, surely?

"You don't really leave me the time for anyone else," Ianto added, in an attempt to haul them out of the patch of emotional quicksand they'd stumbled into. "Or the energy."

Jack smirked. He might even have been gloating as he pulled Ianto onto his lap. "Good to know," Jack mumbled into his ear. "I do try my best."

-XXX-

"You do realize we've just negotiated another cultural clash, don't you?" Ianto asked eventually. They were still entwined on the very same couch, and were even, somewhat remarkably, mostly clothed. Ianto concluded there was something on the television Jack wanted to watch.

"Hadn't noticed," Jack admitted. "Guess I wouldn't, huh? Wanna tell me about it?"

Ianto hesitated, wondering why he'd dragged it back up. He suspected he wanted Jack to acknowledge the sacrifice, which kind of invalidated the gesture. Still, Jack was looking at him expectantly. Ianto heaved in a deep breath.

"Generally, when two people decide to move in together, there's an implied intention of ….um…..faithfulness. Fidelity."

"Monongamy," Jack concluded. He laughed. A tiny, humorless laugh. "I suppose I should've known that. Only, the last time I moved in with someone it was the era of free love, and the time before that, she expected me to marry her before we could live together. And on Boeshane…" he paused, eyes distant, already losing himself in memories.

Ianto tensed. Jack rarely mentioned his home planet, and it had become a point of pride, or trust, or some other equally nebulous principle, that Ianto didn't push for details.

"On Boeshane," Jack continued, when he'd snapped back to the present, "Communal living was fairly common. People didn't generally get a house of their own until after they had kids together. Sometimes not even then. Plenty of people never left the original dormitories set up during colonization. Living in the same house didn't mean much."

"What did, then?" Ianto asked, taking the unusual flow of information as encouragement to indulge his curiosity. "I mean, did anything? Did anyone?"

Jack smiled at the wistful tone Ianto was trying so hard to conceal, and tugged _his_ Welshman more closely into his arms. "Yep. My parents, for example. They declared for each other. Before they had me, even. A declaration like that was…kind of a ritual, I suppose. One of the few we had." Jack frowned lightly, lost in thought. "I guess the closest thing you'd have here is marriage, only there wasn't a big ceremony or anything like that. It wasn't legally binding, either. Just a private agreement followed by an announcement to your family."

Ianto nodded and clambered off Jack's lap. On screen, another sitcom started. Canned laughter echoed back from the walls. Jack squeezed the hand he still held and turned his head towards the television. Ianto didn't hear a word, didn't see an image.

"I haven't, either," Jack said, after a pause. Ianto looked at him with an air of enquiry, wondering what he'd missed that Jack obviously considered worthy of commenting on.

"Been with anyone else, I mean," Jack elaborated, watching Ianto's face intently.

Ianto's double-take was almost comic. "You haven't?"

Jack squeezed a knee in reproof. "Don't sound so surprised," he chided. He fumbled for the remote, and the resulting silence seemed to echo off the walls.

"As a matter of fact, Ianto Jones, I haven't so much as touched anyone since John, the night I got back, and that was only ….well, a snog, Gwen would call it. And since I hadn't even asked you out yet, it doesn't count."

Ianto blinked at him. "But I didn't think….and I didn't want to ask. I mean, _you've_ never said…so I thought…." Evidently they were taking turns at babbling, tonight.

Jack glanced at Ianto, a quick, sideways flicker which from anyone else would be called shy. "I wanted to prove to myself I could do it before I said anything," he confessed. "I wasn't going to make you any promises I couldn't keep. I thought I'd have to work at it…" at which he paused for a nervous chuckle. "Sounds like one of those twelve-step programs, doesn't it? But…..but it was _easy_, Ianto. I don't _want _to be with anyone else."

Ianto's throat closed as an unusually serious pair of blue eye connected with his own. "You kissed Martha," he pointed out, before they both choked beneath the weight of sentiment.

Jack sniffed. "_She_ kissed _me_. And it was a friendly kiss, totally unworthy of the snog category."

"So there's levels, are there?" Ianto teased, in an effort to claw his way back to equilibrium. "Perhaps you ought to show me the difference. Just to clarify things, you understand. Wouldn't want there to be any confusion."

Jack's eyes twinkled. "Sounds like a plan."

Ianto began to rise from the couch, a hand dangling a hand invitingly behind him. "Shall we?"

"Not yet," Jack said, grasping the offered hand but resisting the tug on his own. "Not until I've convinced you I meant what I just said," he continued, his voice firming. "Because I have to say, Ianto Jones, you don't sound very convinced."

Jack pulled Ianto back onto the couch, and then turned so they faced each other properly. His face creased into determined lines, somehow making him look both older and almost adorably young. "I don't remember the formal phrasing of the declaration, but…." Jack heaved in a huge breath.

Ianto saw sweat break out across the older man's brow, and his heart twisted as he steeled himself for a final attempt to prevent Jack making a promise he might regret. His finger felt heavy as he laid it over Jack's lips.

"You don't have to do this," Ianto said softly. "There's no one else. There _won't_ be anyone else. Only you."

Jack took the finger into his mouth, nipping teasingly at the end. "I_ want_ to," he murmured around it, before withdrawing the digit and taking the hand attached to it firmly between his own.

"Both hands," he murmured. Ianto watched, eyes wide, heart hammering, stunned by the intensity in Jack's face as he examined their joined hands, then carefully rearranged the placement of their entwined fingers. "I'm pretty sure that's right," he announced, radiating satisfaction.

When Jack looked up, his smile faltered at whatever he saw on Ianto's face. "You _are_ OK with this, aren't you Ianto?"

Ianto gulped. "If _you're_ sure," he said, still hesitant. "I mean, it's obviously a big deal for you, Jack, I …."

Jack raised their joined hands to his lips. "Moving in with me is a big deal to you, too," he countered. "Are _you _sure?"

Ianto ran his tongue rapidly over suddenly dry lips. _Was_ he sure? Gwen's face drifted through his mind, trailing questions in its wake. But Gwen was married now. She'd chosen Rhys. Maybe, tonight, Jack was making _his _choice. And Ianto would be lying to himself if he pretended he hadn't already made his own. All he had to do was admit it to Jack.

Their eyes met, held, until both sets watered from the strain. Ianto felt the strange sense of time stopping, as the universe, or at least his little slice of it, stilled in anticipation.

They had the potential to stuff this up big time, he had to accept that, too. But it would be a _spectacular _stuff-up. And hey, it might even work.

Ianto's fingers tightened in their complicated arrangement around Jack's. "Hell yeah," he said, suddenly reckless – and loving it.

Jack smiled at him. An angel's smile below a devil's eyes. "Only you," he murmured. "I like the sound of that. Let's use it, huh?"

Ianto nodded, just the tiniest dip of his head, afraid to break eye contact in case the moment broke with it.

"Only you, Ianto Jones, for as long as you want me," Jack said, with a depth of sincerity that banished any lingering doubts.

Ianto swallowed around the lump in his throat and delved for words to express the turmoil of emotion inside him. This, he thought, was why there was such a thing as traditional vows. "Only you, Jack, for…..for…."

"The rest of you life, and it'd better be a long one," Jack finished.

-XXX-

Later, much later, tangled beneath the duvet instead of on the couch, Ianto released a muffled, snuffly laugh.

"What's that for?" Jack asked, opening a single, sleepy eye.

"It's just occurred to me that, possibly the first time ever, we're actually on the same page with….this."

Jack lifted his head from its resting place on Ianto's shoulder. "Not really," he disagreed.

Ianto frowned at him. "Why not? We've got the moving in together sorted, we've done your declaration…..what else?"

"We're supposed to announce it," Jack told him. A fresh frown grew. "To our families…..."

Ianto smiled softly. "I suppose the rest of the team will need to know our new address," he suggested. "And my sister."

Jack settled back down, more content than he could remember. "That'll do."

* * *

_While I haven't seriously considered just where this storyline fits, you've probably noticed references which imply late S2. Technically, this means Owen is undead, but this little world is far to sweet to accept something like that, so please forgive the variation from canon._

_Hope you enjoyed it anyway._


	19. Please Mr Postman

**This is a sequel to Sitting on the dock of the bay. It's for Wanda1969 - not exactly what you asked for, but I hope you like it anyway. High silliness factor.**

* * *

"Mummy, I've got the mail!"

Rhiannon smiled as Mica ran through the door, envelopes held proudly aloft.

"And they aren't all nasty window-faced ones," Mica continued. "There's letters, mum, real letters!"

Which was unusual enough to make Rhiannon take notice.

"Bring them here, love," she requested. "Let's see who's taken the time to put pen to paper, shall we?"

She recognized Ianto's neat script immediately. That would be right. Her little brother could scarcely manage to pick up the phone, but he'd find time to sit down and write a letter. Rhiannon's heart beat just a tiny bit faster as it occurred to her that this might be how Ianto had chosen to tell her about his relationship with Jack. A handwritten letter was personal enough not be an insult, yet totally non-confrontational. Just his style.

Rhiannon's hand shook slightly as she slit the envelope with a fingernail. A single piece of stiffened paper fell onto the table. Not the lengthy outpouring she was hoping for, then.

Still, the change of address card wasn't too much of a disappointment. It was good to know Ianto had finally moved out of that poky flat he'd taken after losing Lisa to the terrorists. Moved out, and moved on.

The second envelope was written in a hand Rhiannon didn't recognize. A formal, swirling script that must have had the postman swearing as he deciphered the address.

A grin split Rhiannon's face as a second change of address card joined the first. Same address, she noted with satisfaction. The only difference was the name at the bottom. _Jack_.

Yes, Ianto had certainly moved on. Maybe one day soon the breach between them would heal enough to tell her who he'd moved on _with_. Not his fault, Rhiannon reminded herself firmly, before she had a chance to start feeling resentful. She'd parroted Tad's opinions long enough that Ianto had no reason to believe she didn't share this one. One day, Ianto would trust her again. Until then, she and Jack would continue their benevolent conspiracy.

Unless Jack opened his mouth and put his foot in it first, of course. Rhiannon considered it a minor miracle that Jack had managed to get her address from Ianto without letting slip that the two had already met.

Rhiannon closed her eyes and leaned back with a smile on her face as she remembered sharing a package of fish and chips with a handsome man in a greatcoat. A handsome man trying to hide how desperately he wanted her approval. She had absolutely no doubt of Jack's purpose in sending this card. Trying to convince her of his honorable intent towards her baby brother. Sweet. Not what she'd expected for Ianto, not even what she'd hoped for. But not too shabby, either. Ianto could have done much worse.

Rhiannon turned the cards over in her hand as she considered her next move. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to give Jack a little bit of reassurance?

An idea formed, and Rhiannon nodded absently to herself, her grin spreading. It wouldn't be too hard to manage. She still volunteered at the animal shelter when they were snowed under, keeping her hand in until the kids were old enough for her to return to a regular shift.

-XXX-

"Were you expecting biohazards, Jack?" Ianto asked, dropping a heavily-stickered packaged onto Jack's desk.

"No, I wasn't, actually," Jack answered. He reached for the package and examined it curiously. Printed address sticker on the front and no return address, neither of which was quite as ominous as it might appear. There were plenty of people out there who risked their livelihoods to keep Jack in the loop.

Jack's heart did that idiotic clenchy thing as Ianto's brow creased in concern. Jack couldn't help it, though. He'd spent so many years being Torchwood's canary that it was still a novelty to have someone give a damn when he put himself in danger.

"People don't really send explosives through the mail, Ianto," Jack said teasingly. "And I'll bet you've already ran a Geiger counter over it, haven't you? So no radiation, either."

Ianto nodded. "Standard procedure," he said defensively. "I haven't x-rayed it yet, though."

Jack snatched the package as Ianto reached for it. "You can't do that," he chided. "It'll damage anything biologically sensitive."

Ianto's frown deepened and Jack resisted the temptation to kiss it away. They didn't have to steal moments at work anymore. They had a home now, together. A place where no could walk in on them without an invitation. With a Jacuzzi.

They eventually compromised on Jack opening the mysterious package in a cell, behind a forcefield, with Ianto monitoring via CCTV. Jack privately thought Ianto was making a huge fuss over nothing, which didn't stop him relishing the concern.

The package contained a scalpel, scissors, needle, and a filament too thick to be sewing thread. And a note, which explained everything and made Jack grateful he wasn't facing the camera.

"Nothing to worry about," Jack yelled. He waited until the camera light winked out before releasing the bubbling laughter.

_Dear Jack_

_Received your card. Got one from Ianto, too._

_I'm assuming the address isn't a coincidence, so I guess you're doing well by him. _

_I've sent you my kit so you know your valuables are safe. For the moment, anyway._

_Love, Rhi_

_PS. Don't think this is an excuse to get slack, Harkness. I can always get fresh supplies. And I know where you live._


	20. Red Red Wine

**Not the Jackuzzi verse this time. More in the vein of the 'more than this' and 'want to wake up with you' chapters. Because, really, 'Meat' couldn't have happened in the fluffy little jacuzzi world, could it?**

* * *

Ianto stared deeply into the glass as he warmed it between his hands, watched the liquid swirl, inhaled the scent that drifted up towards his nostrils and finally brought the glass towards his lips, taking a small sip, letting the flavors burst on his tongue.

He'd been saving this bottle of wine for a special occasion. What could be more special than having a gun fired against your temple, only to find the chamber was empty? Luck. Sheer luck. He should have bought a lottery ticket on the way home. Only, that would have felt like tempting fate, – or Torchwood – with the assumption he'd still be alive when the lottery was drawn. The same as keeping this bottle of wine in the rack, waiting for an evening that would probably never happen.

As Ianto placed the glass back down on the coffee table, his eyes fell on the reddened marks left by the rope around his wrists. Beneath the relief he was still alive ran an undercurrent of pride that he'd been able to get out of those ropes by himself. Kicked a gun out of one of those thug's hands, too. And stunned the rest of them, and been collected enough for a quite Bondian line while he was at it.

A far cry from the mess he'd been at the Beacons, with no skills to call on except a solid head.

Ianto supposed he owed it to Jack. It'd been Jack's idea to tackle his resultant fear of being bound, not by avoiding it, but by teaching him how to get out of ropes, cuffs, and a variety of other alien binding devices he'd probably never encounter. At least today proved it hadn't been a complete waste of time, even if Ianto suspected that Jack's determination to overcome Ianto's fear of bondage wasn't entirely professionally motivated.

Jack. Ianto's eyes darkened. Jack, who'd marked Ianto's escape from death today by sending him after the man who'd shot him. No doubt Jack would explain it as putting him back onto the horse that threw him. And maybe he was right, but…..Ianto couldn't help the stab of wistfulness as he compared Jack's reaction to Gwen's. Unprofessional, certainly. Dangerous, possibly. But a demonstration of her love for Rhys, definitely.

And given the way Jack reacted afterwards, further proof of Gwen's humanity, which the rest of them apparently lacked. Probably because they were cold and lonely. It was surprising how much that one hurt. Ianto knew that Jack was lonely, and he'd flattered himself that whatever he and Jack had at least kept the loneliness at bay. Obviously not. Not that he'd expected, or wanted, a public declaration, but he'd not gotten even so much as an eyebrow slanting in his direction by way of acknowledgement.

Ianto sighed and took another sip of his wine. Damned fine drop, this. Opening the bottle tonight was probably not so much celebration as acceptance that he'd never have an occasion to share it with Jack.

The level in the bottle was considerably lower, half-empty in fact, because Ianto was in that sort of mood. He was just wondering whether he could be bothered to find some food to go with it when a key turned in the lock. Ianto didn't even look up from his contemplation of the swirling ruby liquid in his glass. He hadn't given a key to anyone except Jack. Perhaps it was true that to speak, or think; of one's own personal demon had the power to summon them.

Fabric creaked as Jack lowered himself into the armchair across from Ianto. Selecting the armchair instead of crowding onto the couch beside Ianto showed a level of tact he hadn't known Jack possessed. Ianto refused to be impressed by it, regardless.

"You left," Jack said, after an interval during which Ianto completely failed to express his appreciation of Jack's presence.

"You noticed," Ianto answered, regretting the sarcasm only because it soured the taste of his wine.

Jack sighed. "Did you really think I wouldn't?"

"Didn't think you could tear your eyes away from the CCTV long enough," Ianto said, on the principle that the wine was bitter already, so he might as well make the most of it.

"She had Retcon with her," Jack said impatiently. "And after what she said, I didn't trust her not to go off and take it after all. I can't afford to lose anyone on the team."

Ianto met his eyes and held the gaze long enough to be sure Jack registered the eye-roll before returning to his examination of the depths of his wineglass.

"I don't want _any_ of you taking Retcon," Jack insisted. "Or have you forgotten that I had Owen go through your apartment after….."

Jack broke off as Ianto shuddered. He remembered, so far as he remembered anything about the fuzzy period after losing Lisa irrevocably, that Owen had indeed been with Jack the night he was brought back to his flat. At the time, he'd thought they might be packing up his belongings to save them the effort of hanging around after they'd killed him. When they'd finished, he'd been so relieved at being left, alive and alone, in his disarranged dwelling, that he hadn't stopped to consider what they'd been doing all that time.

Still, Ianto wasn't in the mood to feel grateful to Jack tonight, especially over past transgressions. Especially if Jack was still going to hold them…._that_….over him when by all accounts he'd redeemed himself several times over.

Jack possibly agreed on that point, because he was shifting uncomfortably on his chair. "I didn't mean...," Jack began.

"You never do," Ianto observed.

Ianto flattered himself that the ensuing silence was awkward, but in reality he suspected it was more likely injured, given his ongoing failure be impressed that Jack had condescended to check on him. Hell, it must have taken Jack at least ten minutes to get here from the Hub, and Jack didn't make that sort of effort for just anyone. Unless he anticipated sex out of it, of course. Odd, even silent sarcasm made the wine taste bitter.

"You shouldn't have left without telling anyone," Jack said eventually, his tone openly reproving.

Ianto looked up again, eyebrows higher on his forehead than should have been humanly possible. "How'd you get in, Jack?"

Jack looked back at him, a frown forming. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again with a faint snapping of teeth, literally biting off any words, as if he either didn't know what to say or had thought better of it. In the end he settled for dipping a hand into his pocket, raising it with a key-ring dangling from his index finger.

"Yeah, you used your key," Ianto agreed. "The one I gave you as…as someone who spends enough time in my personal space to have a key of his own. So you aren't here as my boss, and you don't get to throw your authority around. If you want to lecture me about breaking protocols, which God knows you'd never do to any of the others, by the way, then you can do it at work tomorrow."

Jack sighed heavily. "Like that, huh?" he murmured. Ianto decided the melancholy note in his voice had to be faked. Jack didn't do melancholy, at least, not since brooding came into style.

If Jack expected a response, he wasn't going to get one. Ianto was already back to watching his glass, focusing on the liquid because he didn't want to look at the rope burns on his wrists, and the only alternative was watching while Jack made one of his dramatic exits. Besides which, Ianto couldn't risk watching Jack's departure, given the distinct possibility he'd beak down and beg Jack not to leave him to cope with this latest brush with death alone. That would never do, Ianto told himself firmly, not when he was doing so well with the cold shoulder thing. No, he just had to keep his mouth shut for a bit longer, and Jack _would_ leave, secure in the knowledge that he'd made the token effort which would, in his mind at least, preserve his shagging privileges.

Sadly for Ianto's resolve, he had to admit Jack was probably right about that. Ianto knew his weaknesses, and Jack was the chief of them. But at least from now on Ianto would no longer be under the illusion that there was anything more between them. Any such fanciful notions were forever banished by he look on Jack's face as he watched Gwen with Rhys today, as she'd threatened to take Retcon.

Jack didn't look at Ianto like that. The knowledge sat cold in Ianto's mind, sending its mocking tendrils into his heart, and no amount of wine would take the chill away. Jack had _never_ looked at Ianto the way he'd looked at Gwen today, not even in their most intimate moments. Nothing to be done but accept it. Perhaps, eventually, reality would stiffen his resistance, maybe even restore some semblance of pride, and he'd even be able to move on.

But there was no sound of movement. No swishing of coat, no slamming of door. Jack was obviously planning to wait him out, and Ianto had no illusions as to which of them had the nearest breaking point tonight. He allowed his eyes to flitter up, to the armchair across from him where Jack waited. _Waited for him because Gwen had chosen Rhys, again_. The mere thought made his eyes sting, so Ianto looked hurriedly back down at the wineglass in his hand, then up again sharply at the scraping sound of Jack moving the coffee table, and mourned equally for the remains of the wine and the state of the rug beneath as the bottle wobbled precariously.

Jack caught the wine bottle before it fell, replaced in on the repositioned table, then stood waiting in the space he'd made, hand extended. Ianto's hand drifted up to meet it, seemingly of its own accord.

But the cuff of Ianto's shirt slipped down again, exposing the marks of the ropes on his wrist, and whatever spell Jack was trying to weave broke. Ianto's hand dropped back into his lap, where it joined the other around the stem of the wine glass, perhaps to stop him reaching out again because the empty glass certainly didn't need two hands to hold it. But he didn't want Jack to stay. He really didn't.

"Why_ are_ you here, Jack?" Ianto asked tiredly.

"As the guy you've honored with the key to your personal space," Jack answered softly. "I had to make sure you were all right, Ianto."

An intense surge of bitterness unstopped Ianto's tongue. "Of course you did. So much so that you couldn't tear your eyes away from….from Gwen and Rhys….long enough to spare me a glance."

At which he actually _bit_ his tongue. He sounded whiny. He sounded clingy. Either one of which was a guaranteed method of sending Jack sprinting for the door. Which, Ianto reminded himself hastily, was exactly what he wanted.

It was a pity he wasn't as good at lying to himself as he was to everyone else.

But still Jack didn't leave. Instead, Jack's face appeared before Ianto's stubbornly lowered head, accompanied by the muted thud of his knees hitting the carpet. Ianto tried hard not to think of the other times he'd heard that sound, but the tiniest of smiles twisted his lips regardless.

Jack didn't return the smile. His voice held bitterness sharper than the grains of sediment from the dregs of the wine. "Is that what you thought? That I didn't want to look at you? Oh God, Ianto, I _couldn't_ look at you."

Ianto couldn't stop the shudder that ran through him. This was where clingy got him, then. Complete and utter rejection. Probably for the best.

"No, Ianto, damnit, not like that," Jack said. "Christ, I don't know whether to be proud of myself for being so convincing, or furious with you for being so…so bloody dense.

There was a lurch of moment, and Jack's head was thumping into Ianto's stomach, and Jack's arms were around Ianto's waist, and it was just as well his glass was empty or Jack would be washing wine out of his hair. And once Jack got into Ianto's bathroom the odds of getting him of the flat again before morning were slim. Which wasn't what Ianto wanted, not at all, regardless of what his weaker side insisted on hoping for, so it really _was_ a good thing the glass was empty.

He'd be filling it after Jack left though. Maybe more than once. Had to finish the bottle, after all.

But for the moment, Jack was muttering something insistent if indistinguishable against his abdomen and showed no signs of dislodging himself without help. Ianto bent over, somewhat awkwardly, considering the cranium buried in his ribs, put the glass down somewhere safe and used both hands in an attempt to dislodge Jack's skull from his ribcage.

"If I'd looked at you," Jack mumbled, even while attempting to burrow back into his nice safe hiding place. "If I'd even _glanced _at you, I'd have made as much of a fool of myself as Gwen did. Christ, did you see her Ianto? The tiniest threat to Rhys and she goes postal. Hell, I almost envy her."

Ianto contemplated what he thought he'd heard, pondered the implications, and concluded he'd gotten it wrong.

"Pardon?" he asked, quite politely.

Jack dropped back onto his heels and swiped a sleeve across his eyes.

"He could've killed you. If he'd had just one shot left…."

Ianto cleared his throat. "Yeah," he agreed. "I'd kind of noticed that."

Jack released a shuddering breath. "I can't do this any more, Ianto. I just can't."

Here it was then. It was damned near a relief, after all this time waiting for the axe to fall, because he'd always known that a damaged boy from the estates would never be enough to hold the interest of someone like Jack. Ianto supposed it was kind of flattering that Jack had bothered to make this visit after all. Gave the thing a bit of dignity.

"I can't keep pretending you don't matter," Jack finished. "I can't keep up the act that I'm just your boss."

That was interesting, if confusing. Ianto decided he'd had enough wine. Or maybe not enough. He couldn't work out how even someone like Jack could go from _that_ comment to the inevitable ending. At least, not in the space of a few minutes, and Ianto doubted his ability to maintain his composure if Jack drew this out for much longer. Maybe he ought to help it along. Might even learn a thing or two in the process.

"Do I matter to you?" Ianto asked. "I mean, apart from the coffee and the cleaning up the shit and the 'no strings' sex."

"Damn it, Ianto, of course you do!" Jack's head dropped to Ianto's lap again, where he murmured a string of sulfurous comments into his knees – and not the usual sort either. Ianto watched with mild interest, having decided Jack would, as usual, do this in his own way, and his own time, and clarity was more likely obtained by going with the flow instead of interrupting it. A conclusion which the wine most likely helped him to reach, but then again, that's what alcohol was for.

Jack's head rose again, eyes blinking slowly. He examined Ianto steadily for a moment or two, then slowly drew the younger man's hand between his own. Ianto hissed at the pressure on the rope burns and made a futile effort at pulling his hand free.

Jack pushed the sleeve back so he could inspect the damage. "Rope burns," he muttered, eyes glittering with something that might have been anger.

Ianto shrugged. "Amateurs," he answered. "I suppose they thought if they tied them tight enough it would compensate for the crappy knots."

Jack smiled briefly. "Learned your lessons well, haven't you?" He lowered his head to the wrist cradled within his hands, and something inside Ianto shuddered as Jack's lips pressed against the tender skin. Jack raised his head, met Ianto's eyes, then drew in the other wrist for a repeat performance. Ianto decided that the resultant tingles were entirely in his imagination.

Jack pulled the cuffs carefully back down then hauled himself up to sit beside Ianto.

"Did you ever stop to think why I taught you all that?" Jack asked. "The knots, the cuffs, the hand-to-hand combat."

Ianto frowned at him, trying to ignore the way his skin continued to buzz where Jack's lips had touched. Now was not the time for innuendo, so he dredged for a more acceptable reason, and came up blank.

"I assumed you taught everyone," he answered eventually.

Jack shook his head and huffed an impatient sigh at his own knees. His eyes met Ianto's again, this time with a look of determination that Ianto found thoroughly confusing. "Let's try this again, then. What would you do if I asked you to stay out of the field?"

Ianto frowned. "Assume I'd stuffed up?" he suggested. The frowned deepened. "I haven't, have I?" And yes, that was actual panic in his voice. He'd thought he'd done really well, considering. "No, I didn't stuff up," he said, damned near pleading. "Not today. No, I did good today….."

Jack raised a hand to still the tirade. "Of course you did. You haven't stuffed up, Ianto. Not even close. You did, however, scare the hell out me. So, if I ask you to stay out of the field in future…."

"I'd assume you were trying to bore me out of Torchwood and find another job," Ianto announced, with a sense of triumph. OK, that was it. Jack had tried to scare him out of Torchwood, then attempted to push him out through overwork, now he was trying to bore him out.

"Exactly," Jack approved. "So, since I want to keep you around."

Ianto shook his head, trying to clear it, feeling fairly sure some of this would make sense with a bit less of the wine swishing around in his brain. So, Jack wasn't breaking up with him, nor did he want him out of Torchwood. Which left….What? What _was_ Jack doing here, then? No, it wasn't making sense. Back to the 'go with the flow' thing.

"And I want to keep you safe," Jack continued, much to Ianto's bewilderment. "Hell, I _need_ to keep you safe. And I can't risk doing that myself or I….I become Gwen."

Ianto spluttered. Jack smiled, a slightly broken but altogether beautiful smile. "And having me falling all over you sobbing is hardly conducive to getting you all out safely, is it?"

"So you taught me how to keep _myself_ safe," Ianto said, with lights exploding in his skull and a tiny something growing inside of him that warmed him far better than the wine.

"Bullseye," Jack said. Ianto tried not to bask in the approval, or whatever the hell it was, but he couldn't quite help himself.

Jack raised both of Ianto's hands, kissing his palms this time. The cuffs did their usual job of sliding down his arms, revealing….unblemished skin.

Ianto and Jack looked at the expanse of creamy flesh for a moment, one with confusion, one with triumph.

"I can't do _that_," Jack announced, "Unless there's considerably more involved than coffee and cleaning." He paused, brow wrinkling in thought. "There _is_ usually sex though," he admitted. "But it's got strings attached. Lots of them."

Ianto gulped, raised his eyes to meet Jack's, then dropped them again, and sent them on a little trip around the room, until they found the bottle which was half-full, not half-empty.

"I think," he began. "I think….we should…..we need….."

Jack smirked.

"We need another glass," Ianto concluded. "There's half a bottle left, and it's too good to waste."

**Hope you liked. There is a fluffy-verse chapter in the making, because I've gotten too fond of the scalpel-wielding Rhiannon to let her go just yet.**

**Thanks for reading.**


	21. Tell her about it

**Two chapters in two days. I'm terribly impressed with myself.  
****First it was the Jackuzzi, now it's the scalpel-wielding Rhiannon I can't escape from. My imagination is obviously a scary place to live.  
****Rhi doesn't actually make an appearance today, she's just an ominous presence.**

* * *

Jack wasn't moving. Motionless and Jack were not concepts Tosh usually associated with each other. Except during a Weevil hunt, perhaps, but the only Weevil in the Hub was Janet, and she was securely in her cell, munching on the bacon sandwich that Owen had decided he didn't really need, given the first two had cured the nausea associated with today's hangover.

And Jack was being motionless outside the entrance to the Archives. Weird piled upon weird. Jack was often to be found in the vicinity of the Archives, particularly when Ianto was within. Only he wasn't usually _outside_ them.

"What?" Tosh began, but fell instantly silent again at Jack's admonitory finger. The Hub might have been invaded, she supposed, but Jack hadn't actually alerted anyone, and he didn't look tense enough for that.

Tosh found a spot for the armful of files she'd come down to deliver and eyed her boss with avid curiosity. She was rewarded with a smile. A tiny smile that lit his eyes. A smile that hid laughter. Almost unbearably curious now, Tosh obeyed the beckoning finger, and drew closer to listen.

"It's been a while since I lost Lisa." Ianto's voice drifted through the door, which was quite thick enough to deaden sound, if someone hadn't opened it just a crack. Someone called Jack. Someone called Jack, eavesdropping on Ianto. Tosh delivered her best glare, and a firm elbow to the midriff, just on principle, even as her eyes filled in response to the words. But the tears didn't spill over because the tone wasn't right. Sad, yes. Solemn even. But not miserable.

Jack gave an exaggerated wince and rubbed his ribs. Tosh rolled her eyes in answer – Ianto had been giving her lessons. That dealt with, Jack grinned merrily, then beckoned her closer still before raising a finger to his lips again. The grin didn't belong either, so Tosh resolved to listen before making any further assumptions.

"And much as I still miss her, I…..I've found someone else," Ianto continued. He stopped, groaned, and swore in a manner that widened Tosh's eyes and left Jack literally biting his tongue to hold back laughter.

"Callous," Ianto muttered, in a completely different tone. "That just sounds callous. And careless." The sigh reverberated to where his unseen audience lurked.

"I miss her," Ianto began again, in somber tones, "But, I find I can't mourn her forever, and I've met someone who has helped me come to terms with the grief, helped me to find the happiness beyond it," he continued, before lapsing into further cursing.

Tosh blinked and applied an eye to the gap in the door, to see Ianto pacing the hallway beyond. His tie was loose, his hair ruffled. Tosh withdrew to eye Jack accusingly, only to conclude that he didn't look smug enough to have been the cause of Ianto's current state of dishevelment.

"And _that_ sounds bloody pompous," Ianto scolded – himself? "You're not talking to a bloody jury, Jones." He sighed again. "Much as it feels that way. Judge, jury and executioner all rolled into one. How the hell am I going to do this?"

Tosh peered through the gap again. No-one else there. No phone to his ear. She could even see his Bluetooth lying on the desk. Ianto _was_ talking to himself. Swearing at himself. And pacing. And running his hands through his hair.

Jack backed away. Tosh followed him up to the Hub, only to halt abruptly midway to his office as Gwen's hand closed around her wrist.

"What's going on?" Gwen demanded.

Tosh sighed, opened her mouth, then closed it again as footsteps sounded from the medical bay. She might as well wait for Owen and get it all over with at once.

"I just found Jack eavesdropping on Ianto in the Archives," she explained.

Gwen made a sound that might possibly be a squeal. "That's so cute!"

Owen snorted. "Doesn't he get enough at home?" he complained, dodging the ensuing swat from Gwen with the ease of practice.

Jack stuck his head out of the office and waved an imperious hand at Tosh.

"I'm being summoned," Tosh announced, trying to edge away without making it appear that she was, in fact, fleeing their presence.

Gwen pouted. "He tells you everything now, doesn't he?"

Tosh's feet ground to a stop at the note of genuine sadness in Gwen's voice. It _was_ kind of unfair, she had to admit. Jack used to confide in Gwen, but since things between him and Ianto had gotten so much more serious, Jack had begun turning to Tosh instead. It started because Jack knew that Ianto often confided in her himself, which gave Tosh an edge when Jack needed a spot of Ianto-translation. However, in the process, she and Jack had drawn closer, too. A fact which would only hurt Gwen further.

"I think I'm more of a go-between," Tosh offered. She heaved a completely fake sigh. "For when Ianto gets in one of his cryptic moods."

Gwen patted Tosh's hand consolingly.

"Gooseberry," Owen corrected. "Watch out, Tosh, or they'll be inviting you to join in.

Both women gasped, then assumed almost identical dreamy expressions. Owen departed in vocal disgust.

"I should have been offended, shouldn't I?" Tosh asked Gwen.

"Hmmm? Oh yes, Tosh, of course," Gwen answered vaguely. "What a thing to suggest…."

Her eyes hadn't quite refocused yet. Tosh took the opportunity to escape.

Jack waved Tosh to a chair without taking his attention off the CCTV screen. Tosh leaned forward avidly. Yet another thing she ought to be disturbed by. Eavesdropping by camera. Jack's influence, obviously.

On-screen, Ianto continued to pace and mutter disconnected phrases.

"What _is_ he doing?" Tosh demanded.

Jack smiled again, teeth flashing. He looked, Tosh thought somewhat uncharitably, like a dog that had just been patted. If he had a tail, it'd be wagging.

"Practicing," Jack answered gleefully. He leaned forward and accessed the audio as well. "Listen."

_"I've met someone,"_ Ianto's voice announced through the speakers. _"We've been together for a while now, and we've even moved in together. I know it's sudden, Rhi, but it's…special?"_

"Aw, he was doing so well," Jack said, with a distinct smirk in his voice. "He ruined it with the uncertainty at the end, don't you think?"

_"No,"_ Ianto admonished himself. "_I should say, **he's** special. Get it out in the open straight away, that'd be much better."_ On screen, Ianto nodded to himself decidedly, and was actually seen to make a note.

Tosh frowned slightly. "Rhi? Rhiannon? Isn't that Ianto's sister's name?"

Jack nodded, looking unbearably smug. "He's working himself up to tell her about me," he said. The sheer joy in his voice made Tosh's eyes mist up again.

_"It isn't men,"_ Ianto said suddenly, drawing their attention back to the screen. _"It isn't men, it's him."_ His voice changed again. _"Yeah, I like that. That'll work."_

More notes, then Ianto dropped into the chair behind his desk in the Archives, and raised his coffee mug in what might be a toast. To himself.

Jack logged out of the CCTV feed before Ianto had time to notice the extra light on the camera which meant the footage was being viewed, then turned to smirk at Tosh.

"Guess I'm about to become official, then." He gave a theatrical sigh. "And I was kind of enjoying being the dirty little secret, too."

Tosh's eyes narrowed. "No you weren't," she said.

Jack stilled for a moment, his eyes meeting hers without the shutters that so often hid his feelings. "No, I wasn't," he agreed.

"But I didn't want to pressure him," Jack continued. "And if he's decided to tell Rhiannon himself, well, that means something, doesn't it?"

Tosh's eyes filled again at the hopeful note in Jack's voice. Jack didn't let many people see beneath his veneer of supposedly unshakeable self-confidence, and she couldn't help feeling a sense of privilege when he opened up to her like this. She reached across and clasped Jack's hand within hers.

"It does," she agreed warmly. "Like there was any question of how he feels about you."

Jack squeezed her hand before releasing it and leaning back in his chair, his lips curving again. Tosh thought she'd never seen him smile so much. At least, not _real_ smiles.

"Confirmation never hurts," Jack said. "But I was getting a bit tired of the double-life, anyway."

Tosh frowned. "Mysterious is one thing, Jack. Now you're just being cryptic."

Jack opened his eyes wide, an innocent expression that didn't fool Tosh for a second. He bore her gaze for nearly a full minute before dissolving into laughter.

"He's been like this for days," Jack confided breathlessly. "Weeks, even. And do you wanna know the best bit, Tosh?" Jack leaned across the desk, eyes shining. Tosh realised she was holding her breath.

"I met Rhiannon a month ago," Jack confided gleefully. "She stalked me around the Plass for a bit, gave me the third degree, and pretty much put me on probation before trotting off to lunch with him." Jack's eyes glowed with admiration. "She's one hell of a woman, that one."

Tosh frowned at him. "You've met her," she repeated. "You like her. And you're still making him go through all that." Tosh jabbed an accusing finger at the CCTV monitor. "Making him go through all that stress, for nothing? That's cruel, Jack."

Jack retreated back into his chair, contemplating the unfairness of Ianto having two tigresses in his corner, and finding himself stuck between them. It would serve them right if set Gwen onto them. Except that then he'd have Rhys to contend with, too.

The Welsh were scary. Why couldn't the Rift have been in London?

Tosh tapped her foot.

"Rhiannon made me promise not to tell him," Jack said plaintively. "I can't cross her, Toshiko."

Tosh couldn't help smiling. "You sound like you're scared of her!"

Jack nodded with enthusiasm, eyes widening almost comically. "I am. You should have heard the things she threatened me with if I hurt her baby brother." He shuddered. "Truly unspeakable things, Tosh. That woman is the living embodiment of the Welsh dragon."

Tosh giggled. She couldn't help it.

"C'mon, tell me," she urged. "What could possibly scare you?"

Jack leaned forward and whispered in Tosh's ear.

Gwen bolted out of her seat as a shriek that didn't sound anything like the usually composed Toshiko cut through the Hub. Even Owen ceased the metallic banging that usually filled the autopsy bay when he was in a bad mood about something and ascended into the Hub to investigate.

Tosh left Jack's office and tried to make it to her desk before anyone noticed. A futile effort. She could feel Gwen and Owen's eyes burning a hole through her back, right between her still-shaking shoulders.

"Well?" Gwen demanded.

"Jack's met his match," Tosh announced.

And neither of them could get any more out of her than that.

After all, cryptic was in vogue today.

**Kind of sad, but I think I'll have to leave Rhiannon there. The 'coming out' scene is one of the few in CoE that I really love, so I can't invalidate it, even in my head. ****(Unless anyone's got any ideas for more – feel free to suggest!)**


	22. It's not easy being green

**This is set during the flight home after the radio play SubMission. If you haven't heard that, all you really need to know for the purposes of this chapter is they met an old girlfriend of Ianto's called Carlie. There's also a reference to a character in the play The Golden Age, who is an ex of Jack's. **

* * *

It began on the flight home. Gwen thought it was amusing to begin with, but that didn't last.

They'd been allocated one of those three-seaters across the centre of the plane. Ianto was in the middle, which Gwen approved of. It saved her hours of either being ignored by Jack as he groped Ianto under the scanty cover of an airline blanket or being squashed by Jack leaning across her to get to Ianto. Neither of which did much for her ego.

It didn't save Ianto from being groped, but sacrifices must be made in the interests of peace within Torchwood. And Ianto occasionally detached the hand, returned it to its owner, and talked to Gwen instead. Sometimes he even talked to her …er…during. He_ was_ very good at multitasking after all.

"Carlie seems nice," Gwen commented, in one of the windows of discussion. One where Ianto's eyes were still focused.

"Oh she is," Ianto agreed, then went on to expand on all things 'Carlie' with an enthusiasm Gwen was pretty certain was genuine, rather than an attempt to extend the grope-free interval. Not that he'd been objecting very strenuously, but he_ had _overheard one of the stewards offer Gwen a bucket of cold water less than an hour ago. Gwen thought the steward was quite likely jealous, only she wasn't sure which one of them he wanted. Then again, Jack did seem to be overdoing it this trip, even for him.

"Yet you've never mentioned her," Jack said. Gwen considered the tone too much of an effort at casual, and had to hide a smile. Was Jack possibly…..? No, not Jack. Then again….

Ianto blinked. "Just like you never mentioned John," he pointed out.

"You met him before I even asked you out," Jack said defensively.

"Or the Duchess," Ianto continued, voice and face a study in innocence. "Eleanor, wasn't it?"

"Didn't think you'd ever meet her," Jack mumbled.

"And I didn't think you'd ever meet Carlie," Ianto said.

Jack started poking through the seat pockets.

"So she's American, by the voice," Gwen continued, in an effort both to break the silence and contain the giggles. She found it hard to believe she was actually witnessing a jealous Jack. And equally difficult to accept that Ianto was as oblivious as he appeared, but you never knew with Ianto.

Ianto gave Jack a sideways glance. "I've always had a bit of a weakness for the accent," he admitted.

"So it's not just me then," Jack said, before immersing himself in the in-flight magazine. "It wasn't even me _first_."

Gwen hid her smiles behind her own magazine. Maybe Jack wasn't really jealous, she mused. Maybe he'd overheard the steward, too. Or perhaps he'd realised he was embarrassing Ianto with his demonstrations of affection. Regardless, Jack behaved with perfect propriety for the rest of the trip.

Gwen laughed when the steward slipped Ianto his phone number with a packet of complimentary peanuts.

Jack didn't laugh. He didn't even smile. Didn't even say anything about threesomes.

Gwen finally believed it. She had to, given the overwhelming evidence. She _was_ seeing a jealous Jack, and Ianto _was_ oblivious.

Gwen thought it was cute. She didn't think that for long.

-XXX-

Gwen was making her way out via the tourism office, having decided to have lunch in the real world for a change, not to mention taking a break from the atmosphere surrounding a perpetually brooding Jack. She paused at the counter to ask Ianto to join her and was confronted by the sight of the Welshman glaring at a floral arrangement.

"They're lovely!" Gwen exclaimed.

"They're from Jack," Ianto responded, brow creasing until his hairline nearly met his eyebrows. Most things looked good on Ianto, but not that.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing," Gwen said cautiously.

"It usually means he's feeling guilty about something," Ianto explained. He gave the bouquet a last suspicious once-over, and then ducked through the bead curtain in search of a vase.

Gwen chuckled. He _still _couldn't see it. "He's feeling insecure," she called in explanation.

Ianto re-emerged, frown gone, but looking inexplicably sad for someone being showered with gifts. "That explains it," he said morosely, before deciding the vase wasn't big enough and returning to the back room for a different one.

Gwen watched him disappear and concluded she'd be better off having lunch alone than sharing it with someone who couldn't even produce a smile at having gotten the immortal flirt hooked enough to be jealous. Maybe, she thought optimistically, just maybe the boys will sort it out while I'm gone.

"Gwen?" Ianto said, to what he didn't realize was an empty office, given that the rattle of the bead curtain drowned out the tinkle as the outer door closed behind Gwen. "I know it's none of my business, really, but…._who_ was it you said he's been feeling?"

-XXX-

It didn't become unbearable until the incident with the mirror ball.

They'd retrieved some debris from one of the seedier parts of town. Jack found the mirror ball beneath the wreckage of an empty cargo pod, and bore it back to the Hub in triumph. Later that evening, Gwen and Ianto suffered through an impromptu performance of something called 'the hustle'.

"A bit like a line dance," Gwen commented.

"A bit like a seizure," Ianto added. Gwen _didn't_ slap him across the back of the head. She was quite proud of her restraint, actually.

Jack pouted. "The seventies, guys! You gotta love the seventies!"

"The decade that taste forgot," Ianto mused. "Flared trousers." He shuddered. Gwen laughed. "And platform shoes," she added.

"You didn't like the seventies?" Jack demanded.

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Jack, I wasn't even_ alive_ for the seventies."

Jack ceased the performance and slumped down onto the couch, placing Gwen between himself and Ianto, both physically and metaphorically. She began to reconsider the head-slap.

"Sometimes," Jack told Gwen, "I forget the issues inherent in dating someone who was a teenager less than a decade ago. Then I get these reminders."

"I, on the other hand, can never quite forget I'm dating someone who was a teenager over a century ago," Ianto countered. "Because the reminders tend to be constant."

Forget the head-slapping. Gwen was going to bang their heads together. Repeatedly.

-XXX-

Rhys stood in front of an array of open cupboard doors, scratching his head. He'd used it just yesterday, he was sure.

"Gwen, love, have you seen the cooking sherry?"

"I drank it."

Rhys' mouth opened.

"Don't ask, Rhys darling. Just don't."

-XXX-

"It's somewhere inside," Gwen said into the comms. "I've hacked into their booking system and gotten you a table. Go and pretend to be customers."

Gwen wasn't lying, if you interpreted 'it' to be their table, and 'hacking' to mean that she'd used the restaurant's on-line booking system to reserve said table. Admittedly, most people wouldn't interpret either term quite that way, but Gwen was getting desperate. If either man's face got any longer, they'd be tripping over their noses. Interference was now no longer a possibly interesting pastime and more a method by which Gwen would retain her sanity. Besides, she was only giving them a nudge. Oh, all right, maybe she'd asked a friend who worked there – well, the friend's daughter, technically - to flirt with Ianto a bit. Which was hardly going to be a hardship.

Gwen really hoped this would work. She didn't want to be forced into more desperate measures. Locking them both in the Hub for a week was a last resort.

"Can't see anything out of the ordinary," Ianto reported. "Just people having dinner. No signs of unrest."

"Really?" Gwen asked, with well-simulated surprise.

"There's some very big hair over in the corner," Jack said. "Could be concealing anything. Perhaps we ought to check it out."

"It might just be someone we've resettled having a night out," Gwen said hastily. She was trying not to panic, but she could just picture Jack ripping some poor woman's hairpiece off while Ianto apologized to the management and hopefully got them out without police involvement. But she didn't want to let them leave, either.

"It wouldn't be fair to interrupt them if they aren't doing any harm," Gwen added. "Perhaps it would be best if you just hung about for a while. You know, just to observe. Check how well they've integrated."

Jack eyed the man sitting across the table from him. Wearing that pink shirt. There were much worse ways to spend an evening. And with the way beautiful young people were throwing themselves at Ianto lately, Jack wasn't going to waste this opportunity that fate - or Gwen - had chosen to shove his way.

"You okay with that?" Jack asked.

Ianto nodded. "Maybe we ought to order something," he suggested, eyes fixed on the tablecloth. "We might raise suspicions otherwise."

"Good idea," Jack said. "So Gwen, you might as well go home. If anything blows up, we'll call you."

Gwen was glad the comms didn't have visual. The happy dance would have been a dead give away. "Thanks boys," she said. "Have fun."

Jack crumbled his bread, Ianto shredded his napkin.

"Been a while since we've been on a date," Jack said.

Ianto nodded, arranged his napkin shards into a neat pile, then looked up with a sigh.

"We've been busy," he offered.

Jack inhaled deeply and leaped bravely into the fray.

"That shouldn't really be an excuse, should it?" he said softly. "I'm never too busy for you, Ianto. Or I shouldn't be."

The sadness in his voice made Ianto look up sharply. "I thought….." at which he blushed and reached for a new napkin.

Jack intercepted the hand, grasping it firmly within his own. "_What_ did you think?"

Ianto began to blush. Jack couldn't help noticing how nicely his cheeks complimented the shirt. "I thought you were getting bored," Ianto admitted. "That you'd…." His spare hand twitched towards the napkin.

"Tell me…" Jack insisted.

"That you were seeing someone else," Ianto blurted.

Jack gave an incredulous laugh. "Me? I'm not the one with old girlfriends popping out of the woodwork and trolley dollies shoving their phone numbers into my nuts."

Ianto smiled at him even as his cheeks burned brighter. "Singular, Jack, not plural. One ex, one steward."

"That I know of," Jack replied darkly. "And it's still one too many."

Jack released Ianto's hand reluctantly as the waitress delivered their meals. A pretty, young, dark-haired waitress, who smiled brightly at Ianto while offering to refill his wineglass. Jack thought the uniforms ought to be a bit more modest. If she bent any further towards Ianto, something was going to fall into his glass. Maybe two somethings.

"He's taken," Jack told the woman, whereupon he snatched the wine bottle from its place on the table and filled Ianto's glass himself.

"Sorry," Ianto said, blushing redder than the wine in his glass.

The young woman winked. "Can't blame him for hanging on tight when he's caught a good one," she said. After which she scampered away, intent on sending Gwen a victory text.

Jack frowned as he watched the waitress sashay off. Ianto looked at him suspiciously from beneath ridiculously long lashes. "Aren't you getting a bit possessive, Jack?"

Jack reached for Ianto's hand again, playing with the fingers attached to it so he didn't have to look at Ianto's face. "I guess I am," he confessed. "Is….Is that okay?"

Ianto smiled down at their joined hands. "Works for me."

**Thanks for reading.**


	23. Someone to watch over me

**This chapter will make very little sense if you aren't familiar with Douglas Adam's book Life, The Universe and Everything. **(Which need I say I own about as much as I own of Torchwood, which is nothing except what the bookshops would sell me)**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Gwen was edgy. The stone from the invisible lift rested on the floor in the Hub, while Ianto patiently cleaned away the remnants of the last oozing being they'd transported on it.

"Can't you do that on the surface?" she asked. Gwen had never developed the easy acceptance the others all shared about the existence of the gaping hole above their heads while the stone was down here. One of these days, someone was going to fall through, she was sure of it.

"No I can't," Ianto answered, using one of his placid voices. "I can't see the stains well enough to clean it up there, and besides which it'd look a bit conspicuous, don't you think? I mean, especially as I can hardly stand _on_ the stone while I'm cleaning it."

Owen snickered. "Oh yeah, I can just see the locals mesmerized by the flying sponges on every backhand swipe." He leaned forward, offering Ianto something on the palm of his hand. "Oi, mate, when you get the crust off, slide a sample into this, would you?"

Ianto took the offered vial from Owen and slid it into a pocket. "That explains why Owen's hanging around," he said, to no one in particular. "But what about the rest of you? Why are you all watching me clean the stone? Surely you've got something better to do."

The unvoiced threat_ Or you could help _hung in the air.

"I'm not watching," Tosh said hastily, spinning in her chair.

"I am," Jack answered cheerfully. "Because I like seeing you squat, and bend, and the way your ass moves when you scrub…."

Owen complained loudly and went to find an alien to dissect.

Tosh spun her chair back around, a broad smile lighting her face. "I'm here for the view, too," she confessed. "You've got a great tushy, Ianto."

"We could sell tickets," Jack mused. "The Amazing Ianto's Tushy Show."

Ianto said something inaudible and moved around to the other side of the stone. Jack followed him, blithely ignoring the looks Ianto cast his way.

"Apart from that," Gwen said, waving a hand. Not that she was dismissing the appeal of Ianto's rear view. Especially in pinstripes. But as Jack had just proved, drawing attention to it only resulted in Ianto taking the display somewhere else.

"I want to be here in case anyone falls in," Gwen explained.

"No one's going to fall in," Ianto answered.

"Why not?" Gwen demanded, eyes wide. She'd been curious about this from the time she'd discovered Torchwood. "It's a huge great hole up there. If they can't see the stone, so they can't see the hole either, so why doesn't anyone walk into it?"

"Because they walk around it," Ianto explained.

"But _why_ do they walk around it?" Gwen persisted.

"They want to avoid it," Jack chimed in. "Because…"

Gwen waved a hand to cut him off. "I don't want your explanation again," she said impatiently. "It made less than no sense, all that babble you threw in, and I know you did it on purpose so I doubt you'll try to be any clearer this time around."

Jack laughed, but made no attempt to deny the accusation. "I like to preserve the mystery," he explained smugly. "Like the mystery of how Ianto's tailor gets his pants that tight without cutting off his circulation. And how Ianto manages to wear them without splitting the seams. And…"

"Jack!" Ianto scolded. Both Gwen and Tosh smiled, not just because of the scarlet flush that dyed Ianto's cheeks, but also at the way he really didn't look annoyed enough to match his tone. Tosh was fairly sure he was even hiding a smile. It was all a game the two men played, and it was kind of cute.

Jack smirked with a total lack of repentance. "The stone…" he began.

Ianto sat back on his heels, combining a break with an explanation.

"Have you read any Douglas Adams, Gwen?" he asked. "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series?"

Gwen nodded. "Of course!" she answered. "And I've seen the BBC series too."

"So have I," Tosh put in. "And I listened to the radio plays as well."

Jack looked from one to the other. "I've _been _a hitchhiker through the galaxy," he bragged. "Why would I want to read about it?"

Ianto ignored him, quite pointedly, looking instead at the two women. "Then think of it as the airspace around the stone on the Plass being surrounded by a Somebody Else's Problem field," he announced. Whereupon he returned to his scrubbing amidst smiles of understanding from both women and a look of total incomprehension from Jack.

Tosh even applauded quietly, a series of tiny claps with her hands never quite separating. "What a clever way to describe it, Ianto!"

"It makes perfect sense now," Gwen agreed. She patted Ianto on the shoulder in congratulations, then returned to her desk to attack her in-tray with vigor. Unlike Jack, there was nothing Gwen liked better than having a mystery explained.

Jack watched the rest of the Ianto's Tushy show, which while still amazing lacked the usual level of satisfaction. There was something the rest of the team knew, and he didn't, and it annoyed him. There might even be a shred of insecurity associated with that.

-XXX-

"Ianto?" Jack asked tentatively, when it was just the two of them again.

"I've got the audio books," Ianto assured him. "I'll put them on later."

There was something eminently comforting in the fact that Ianto understood exactly what Jack needed without him having to ask. Jack sighed with content and returned to their interrupted activity with renewed enthusiasm.

The Ianto's Tushy show was even better _without_ the pinstripes.

* * *

_Just a silly little thing to help break some writer's block, but I hope you liked it._


	24. No more lonely nights

**Warnign - fluff at levels likely to cause cavities. Set in S2, somewhere around Sleeper.**

Jack rolled over, one arm reaching towards where he expected Ianto to be, then stilled to consider the novelty of it all.

Waking up with a sufficient sense of security that he didn't automatically snap into full awareness, for example. After a year in the Valiant, sleep had been light, when he slept at all.

Jack's immortal body seemed able to recharge without. Sleep was an indulgence, more a rest for the mind than the body. But given the paling of the darkness beyond the curtains, he'd not only slept, but slept the night through. And a _comfortable _sleep. That was a rarity, even since he'd been back.

Take the rolling over, for instance. There was no luxurious sleeping rollover to be had in the bunker. He'd either hit the wall, likely as not triggering a flashback at the impact of the hard surface against his back, or suffer the indignity of rolling off the bed altogether.

Jack's searching hand connected with smooth skin over firm muscle. Ianto muttered something which was probably in English, but with an accent so sleep-thickened as to be unintelligible. The hand which wrapped around Jack's however, delivered an unmistakable invitation as it drew Jack's arm over his ribs. Jack shuffled closer.

This was still kind of new, too – or at least, _newly_ new, having another body in the bed to reach for. To snuggle with, even if that was a concept neither would admit to while fully conscious.

Current evidence, however, suggested that snuggling was in fact exactly what they doing. Close enough that Ianto's shoulders pressed against Jack's chest at each exhale. Kind of nice. Very nice. Jack hadn't realised how much he'd missed this type of thing.

One night stands usually involved more of the standing and less of the night – at least, not _all _night.

Jack lips bowed into a soft smile. All of that was behind him now. He wouldn't risk shattering Ianto's hard-won trust for a quick thrill in an alleyway. He'd had to wait for an invitation to this bed, even work for it, which only made his welcome here all the sweeter.

Not that he'd expected Ianto to fall back into his arms. Hadn't even wanted it, to be honest. Jack intended to do things right, this time. Ianto's version of right, whatever that entailed, though Jack was pretty sure 'the right way' involved abstinence in this part of the twenty-first century. Fine. He could do that. For a while.

He'd obviously been _interested_, though. Curious, even. All right, bordering on desperate. So he'd asked, with as much delicacy as possible considering Ianto's bedroom was just along that hallway - _how long until…?_ Ianto's only answer was an eyebrow arching above an enigmatic smile, which was sufficiently enchanting that Jack hardly noticed the door close, leaving him on what had to be considered the wrong side. Especially after a good-night kiss of that magnitude.

And with the click of that latch, Jack had been reintroduced to the subtle joy of anticipation.

Ianto was, after all, worth waiting for. So Jack told himself, and so he believed. And so, Jack waited, to discover that he actually enjoyed dinners and movies and strolling around Cardiff for no reason other than to remind themselves that it was a nice place to stroll. All of which was even nicer with a companion – a _date_ – who not only looked good enough to serve up alongside the artistically-plated dishes, but could hold an intelligent conversation, as well.

Not that Jack had ever considered Ianto less than intelligent, but bunker-based conversations lent themselves to a limited vocabulary.

Discreet enquiries indicated that there _were_ mostly-established milestones in this dating business, which apparently everyone except Jack understood on a cellular level. Too deep to actually discuss, at least within Jack's hearing.

So Jack asked someone to explain it. He'd asked Gwen, in fact, on the basis that her engaged status meant she'd successfully navigated the whole dating process. Jack would later explain that it was a totally justifiable lapse of judgment, given the stresses to which he was currently being subjected, having ended yet another date on the wrong side of the door. After another brain-numbing good night, too.

Once Jack recovered from the earsplitting volume of something Owen informed him was 'squeeing', Tosh condescended to advise Jack that the third date was generally considered to be the charm. Her announcement was accompanied by the skittering of soft-soled leather shoes as Ianto made his escape into the archives.

Hiding from Jack's righteous indignation no doubt.

They'd already been on _five _dates!

-XXX-

Date six was takeaway on the coffee table with a DVD playing, to which they paid sporadic attention between enthusiastic attempts to snog each other's brains out. When the movie finished, Jack summoned every remaining shred of honor and voluntarily placed himself on the wrong side of the door.

Because Ianto _was_ worth waiting for, and Jack intended to prove it. To Ianto, who evidently didn't believe it himself if he'd felt the need to resort to subterfuge.

Date six was last night. Apparently he'd already proved it. Which just goes to show how much you can achieve if you don't try quite so hard. Or something along those lines.

Jack wasn't sure exactly what it was he'd done right. Not that he'd given it – or anything else - much thought from the moment he'd felt Ianto's hands snag the back of his coat, preventing him from stepping into the lift. Maybe Ianto would explain it one day. Jack wasn't about to ask Gwen again. One round of squeeing was one too many.

Jack wrapped himself closer around the man sleeping within his arm, unashamedly snuggling. His nostrils filled with the scent of a shampoo which appeared to contain apple, and he drifted back into a sleep heavily laced with contentment and completely lacking in nightmares.

Safety smelled like apples. Odd, that.

**Hope you liked. There's a companion chapter in the works. Thanks for reading.**


	25. Baby you can drive my car

**Just some more fluffy nonsense, based on a game my family plays which seems like the type of thing Gwen might come up with.  
****Warnings: **Slight Gwen-bashing, (actually there's everyone-bashing, I'm not singling her out, really!)  
**Timeframe: **Nowhere specific, most likely somewhere near Gwen's wedding, though Owen isn't conspicuously dead..  
No offence is intended towards anyone's particularly beloved choice of vehicle!  
_Anyway thanks for clicking and I hope you enjoy._

* * *

Torchwood huddled in the SUV, watching. Waiting.

"What I don't understand," Owen complained, for what Ianto assured them was the eleventh time that evening, "is why the whole bloody team had to come on this stakeout."

Jack sighed. He was bored too, but if he could resist the impulse to play fanfares on the horn, Owen could resist the urge to whine, surely? "It's gotta be someone else's turn to explain," he announced.

"Because the Blowfish announcing their intentions of negotiating an end to their gang wars is a huge step for them, and we should be here to witness it," Gwen offered, twisting around so she could look at Owen. She was occupying the front passenger seat, at the insistence of everyone who wasn't Jack. Owen had announced that the only way he could survive a stakeout was if he didn't have to witness Jack grope Ianto all the way through it. And while Ianto had served Owen decaf shortly thereafter, he'd already been in the back seat with Tosh and Owen when Gwen got out to the SUV.

"Whereas if it's just an excuse for them to murder each other, we have to be here to stop it," Tosh continued, given that Gwen had apparently become lost in thought. Tosh was at least as bored as the rest of them, but there were worse places to be than wedged in between Ianto and Owen. She was warm at least, not to mention basking in the sneaking impression that Owen wasn't pressed quite as close to the door as he might have.

"And we've no way of knowing if they've been clever in telling us about the peace talks so we won't interfere, or stupid enough to assume that we'd take their word for it," Ianto added.

"But if it does blow up," Jack concluded, "It'll need all of us, so if we only put a pair of us on stakeout the rest wouldn't get here in time. And if you ask again, Owen, I swear I'll send you in there as our representative during the negotiations."

Owen subsided into silence. For at least seven minutes.

"I'm so bloody bored," he complained. "I'd even be grateful for one of Cooper's stupid games."

Gwen surveyed the vehicle with a hopeful smile on her face.

"Go ahead," Jack said. "It's gotta be better than listening to Owen whine."

Ianto and Tosh nodded. Owen looked injured.

Gwen tapped her chin in thought, then smiled broadly. "Given where we are," she said, "Let's do…If we were cars, what model would we be?"

It was testament to how very bored they were that no-one protested. Brows creased in thought.

"Tosh'd be a Volvo," Owen suggested.

Tosh's face wrinkled doubtfully. "Aren't they kind of boring?" she asked.

"Highly respected, though," Gwen put in hurriedly. She didn't want another of her little games to end in disaster.

"A fine piece of engineering," Jack offered, twisting his head back between the seats so he could grin at Tosh.

"Technically brilliant," Ianto confirmed.

Tosh eyed them all warily, still not quite sure whether the mickey was being taken. Everyone looked innocently back at her, which didn't help in the least, especially given how bad Jack was at looking innocent.

"And…..well…..you can trust a Volvo," Owen said, into the silence.

Tosh leaned back against her seat with a smile on her face. "Now you, Owen…"

"I'd have to be an ambulance, surely?" Owen answered hurriedly, before Teaboy could apply that uncomfortably razor-sharp wit.

"All noise and rush?" Ianto said, getting in anyway.

"Determinedly heroic," Tosh said grandly, on the basis that he'd said something nice about her – she thought.

"And it gets the job done once it arrives," Jack put in.

"Leaving a mess for everyone else to clean up," Gwen ended, having seen the leftovers of too many crime scenes during her time in the police.

Owen contemplated it, decided it could have been worse, and moved them on.

"Gwen's one of those soccer mum cars," he decided.

Gwen scowled. "A family car with airs above itself?" she demanded.

Owen gave a good impression of being affronted. "I was gonna say, looks good, and it's got grunt if you need it."

Gwen subsided, mollified, then looked at the rest of the team with expectation.

"Shiny and well optioned," Jack stated. He winked. "With curves in all the right places."

Gwen turned a faint shade of pink.

"Comforting," Ianto supplied, determinedly not glaring at Jack, who'd bent himself around the headrest again to observe the impact of his statement.

"Great bumpers," Jack continued, clearly enjoying both Gwen's blushes and Ianto's death looks.

"Popular," Toshiko put in. She could see the hurt under Ianto's game-playing and wished they'd never started this, as she tended to with all of Gwen's games. Owen straightened beside her, and she could see a gleam in his eyes which didn't bode well. Given their positioning, though, it was no problem to deliver an elbow to the ribs.

Owen turned to her with an injured expression, trying for innocent and failing more miserably than Jack did.

"Don't you dare!" Tosh hissed, under the cover of Jack's continuing sallies.

"But everyone _has_ tried one," Owen protested, though in an undertone, given the proximity of the pointy elbow.

"That's unfair," Tosh whispered, with her best attempt at severity. "You're not everyone!"

Owen waggled his eyebrows at her. "I'm everyone that counts," he whispered back.

Tosh giggled. Jack glanced at them with suspicion, and then grinned.

"Ianto next," he ordered, casting the young man a look that achieved the expected amount of eyebrow.

"If we must," Ianto muttered. "As long as Jack doesn't get to choose."

Jack pouted. The others smirked.

After a moment's contemplation, during which Owen found himself paralysed by far too many options, Gwen squealed – quietly. They _were_ on a stakeout after all.

"Volkswagen Beetle," she announced with triumph. "Cute and reliable."

Owen frowned thoughtfully. "Haven't they got their engines in their boots, but?" he asked. His face cleared as the others nodded back. "Good choice, then, since he's such a smart-arse."

Ianto waited patiently until the laughter subsided. "I believe enthusiasts refer to them as Bugs, rather than Beetles," he corrected.

Owen wasn't one to pass up an opening like that. "Even better," he announced with glee, "'Cause everyone wants to squash you."

"But many have tried, and none succeeded," Tosh put in, deciding to come to Ianto's defense, since Jack was simply sitting back smirking. "Well, it keeps reinventing itself, doesn't it? The Beetle, sorry, the Bug, I mean."

"Tenacious," Jack said, smiling fondly at Ianto.

"And really," Tosh continued, "Who doesn't want one of their very own, even if they won't admit it?"

Jack chuckled, the sound rolling around the walls of the vehicle. Tosh smiled to herself and leaned back again, well satisfied. Ianto looked slightly hunted, as both Gwen and Owen cast him guilty glances before turning to stare out of their various windows.

"And let's not forget the most important thing," Jack said, with a florid wink that made Tosh wish she had a window to look out of as well. "A hell of a lot of fun to ride."

In the ominous silence that followed, everyone could clearly hear the air being drawn into Ianto's lungs for his retort.

"Blowfish on the move," Owen yelled. "And they're armed."

-XXX-

"I'll save everyone the '_I told you so's_,'" Owen announced. He dropped a final bullet into the dish Tosh held out for him, then straightened with a groan. "It was a good thing we were there."

"Not so good for Jack," Tosh pointed out. The bullets rattled in their metal dish as she placed in on the counter. She'd stopped counting after six.

Gwen stroked Jack's hair back into place. "He's a hero – again," she sighed. "Those bullets were meant for the two gang leaders. If Jack hadn't thrown himself in the way…."

The stairs creaked as Ianto made his way down, one arm weighted down by a pile of clothes topped by a crisp blue shirt. "I've gotten the clothes you asked for, Owen," he announced. "Even stopped to iron the shirt." He reached the bottom of the stairs and eyed Owen coolly. "Have you finished sparing me yet?"

"Got the bullets out," Owen informed him, refusing to be daunted. As far as he was concerned, Ianto was Jack's next-of-kin, and there were correct methods for dealing with that, whether the pigheaded Teaboy agreed with it or not.

Ianto nodded. "He'll back awake soon then." He draped the clothes over the back of a chair, dragged it next to the autopsy table, and settled himself into it. To wait.

"Bloody Blowfish," Gwen muttered, rubbing already red eyes.

"It was just a renegade element," Tosh said defensively. "Most of them really wanted peace. And now they know Torchwood's on their side, who knows? Maybe the peace-mongers will get their way." She smiled sadly down at Jack's limp form. "At least it wasn't a pointless sacrifice."

"This time," Ianto said softly, taking Jack's hand in his own.

"We never did get around to deciding which car Jack is," Tosh mentioned, more to fill the silence than anything else. "Something sporty, don't you think?"

"Yeah, something flashy," Owen agreed. His heart wasn't in it, though. Jack hadn't moved yet. There'd been a hell of a lot of bullets. And Jack's luck had to run out sometime, didn't it?

"Like a Porsche," Tosh offered, after a pause.

"Or a Ferrari," Gwen agreed. Her voice was just as flat as the others.

The air in the room hung heavy with the weight of words they never spoke….._ There has to be a time he doesn't come_ _back._

"Nah, stuff those," Owen said, giving Ianto's shoulder a subtle pat. "Nothing that flimsy. More like a tank, I reckon. Bloody unstoppable, Jack is."

Ianto smiled up at Owen, then looked back down at Jack. "He's an Audi," he said decisively.

Jack chose that moment to gasp back into life. Ianto winced as Jack's hand tightened convulsively on his own, but made no attempt to disengage. Instead, his free arm snaked out, wrapping around Jack and drawing his trembling body into the shelter it sought.

"Aw, you brought clothes," Jack grumbled into Ianto's shoulder, quite loudly enough for the rest to hear. "Why'd you bring clothes? Don't you want to check that everything came back?"

Ianto whispered something. Jack's loose muscles tensed, and he drew back to deliver a nearly-perfect smile at the rest of team, still standing in a loose semicircle around the bed. Tosh wondered if the others felt as uncomfortable as she did. It was obvious to her that they were intruding into a private moment between the two men.

"Did someone say Audi?" Jack asked. "Who decided I'm an Audi?"

"I did," Ianto admitted, his face reddening. "I... I... thought you were still out to it."

"Of course you did," Jack agreed. He leaned forward and kissed Ianto's forehead. "That'll do then. A good car, the Audi. Memorable."

Ianto smiled faintly. Jack detached himself slowly from Ianto's arms and produced a much better grin for his audience. "Now, I don't have an issue with you guys watching me undress…..but you ought to at least shove some money in my g-string….Do I have a g-string in this lot, Ianto?"

The autopsy bay emptied rather rapidly.

"Why an Audi?" Gwen asked, puzzled, as they emerged back into the main Hub and dispersed to their various desks. A Blowfish war meant paperwork.

Owen shook his head. "Ianto's got an Audi," he informed her. "An old one."

"A classic," Ianto corrected, from over near the coffee machine. Paperwork needed caffeine.

"Beautifully maintained, very faithful," Tosh added, somewhat dreamily.

Ianto locked eyes with Gwen as he handed her a steaming mug. "And it's mine," he said firmly.

Gwen looked back into the blue depths and found a smile of her own. "Sounds like Jack to me," she agreed.

* * *

_Ianto's attitude here might make more sense if I explain that I'm playing with the idea that he was making a few possessive gestures around the time of the wedding - cutting into that dance, for eg - and is it only me who suspects he kind of planned for Gwen to find them in Adrift? He didn't seem uncomfortable enough about it...eh ...I ramble, I'll stop!_


	26. Dancing in the Storm

**Hello again. All fluff, no 'stuff'. Thanks for reading.**

* * *

Eyes closed, only half awake, Jack's arm reached across the bed, his sleepy smile morphing into a pout as he continued the frustrating process of _not _making contact with the wonderfully warm Welshman who ought to still be somewhere within this lovely big bed. Queen-sized, in fact, and there was probably a pun there, only Ianto was too dignified to say it out loud and would probably insist that it wasn't funny if you had to verbalize it – and Lord, was Jack actually starting to understand the turnings of Ianto's mind?

But it _was_ a big bed. Too big, Jack decided, as his outstretched arm failed to meet the other edge. Too big, and far too empty. Or perhaps only too big because it _was _empty.

Jack's lids peeled themselves away from his eyes, which immediately registered movement from the French doors which opened onto the bedroom balcony. Ianto had drawn the curtains behind him when he slipped out, but from the way the material billowed into the room, he evidently hadn't shut the door.

Invitation enough, Jack decided, then began to slide quietly from the bed, hoping to surprise his lover. Ianto's robe was missing from its spot on the bedrail, so Jack paused to collect his own and drew it reluctantly around himself. He'd rather have the satisfaction of skin on skin, but Ianto would no doubt be too anxious about the whole 'someone might see' issue to relax.

Jack shook his head, a smile forming on his lips. It had been a long time since he'd allowed consideration for another person's preferences to override his own. Nearly as long as the last time he'd woken in someone else's bed without his first thought being whether to escape immediately or negotiate another round of sex first.

Jack hissed at the chill of the bare floorboards beneath his feet. Wood wasn't normally a cold surface. He blamed it on the chill air sneaking beneath the curtains. They should have a rug beside the bed, Jack thought, as he picked his way across the boards towards the balcony. Or perhaps he ought to stash a pair of slippers in the wardrobe to co-ordinate with the robe which had mysteriously appeared, which he hadn't stopped to consider might actually be Ianto's before he'd started using it.

Jack paused halfway across the room to allow the impact of those errant thoughts to percolate through the thinking side of his brain, seeking the sense of unease which should have begun winding its tendrils up from his gut. It wasn't just the robe. He had clothes here, as well. Not many. Just whatever was left from the times he'd stayed the night and mysteriously neglected to collect after Ianto had – _heaven help them both_ – washed and ironed and hung them on what had insidiously become 'Jack's' side of the wardrobe.

Now he was contemplating furnishing and slippers, for goodness sake. These increments towards domesticity ought to have him panicking, faking a rift alert, escaping back to solitude. But instead, Jack could feel the tension unwinding, the fear spinning away, the blooming of content.

_One more time, then._

-XXX-

Ianto's voice greeted Jack's emergence onto the balcony. Just his voice. "Didn't mean to wake you," it said, while, the rest of him remained leaning against the rail, face turned towards the clouds boiling over the bay.

"You didn't," Jack told him, slipping into place behind Ianto with an ease which once again failed set alarms ringing. Ianto's shoulder was the perfect height to rest his chin on, and the curve of Ianto's back might have been designed to match the shape of Jack's torso. They fitted.

Ianto turned his head, just enough to see Jack's face. Behind him, lightning stepped delicately across the bay, illuminating Ianto's pale skin, etching the bones beneath it with silver.

It suited him, that moonlight glow, in the same way that sunlight flattered the pale gold of Jack's own skin. If he ever bought Ianto jewelry, Jack thought, it would be silver, possibly white gold. And Christmas wasn't that far away, actually, so it was something to keep in mind.

_Oh crap. Was he actually **planning** a Christmas present? _

"An alert, then?" Ianto asked.

Jack shook his head, as much to clear it as in answer, using the maximum amount of movement possible without dislodging his chin from its perch. Which incidentally brought him into the perfect angle to steal a kiss, and Jack wasn't one to waste an opportunity.

Ianto tasted – fresh. Rain-washed. A Welshman absorbing his element. Something wound its way up from Jack's gut in response, but it wasn't unease. His arms tightened around Ianto's waist, while he fought the elemental urge to drag his lover back to bed - quite likely beating his chest as he went. No, Jack told himself firmly. He could wait a bit longer before finding out whether the rest of Ianto tasted as good as his lips did at the moment.

"The bed was too cold without you," Jack explained, having released Ianto's lips so he could nuzzle the throat beneath them. Which did taste every bit as good as his lips had, possibly better, given the addition of an intriguing dash of salt. Perhaps the storm had gathered spray from the sea on its journey to its native skin.

Ianto chuckled, perfectly in sync with a roll of thunder; sending vibrations through Jack's chest to correspond with the tiniest of shudders rising from the suddenly flimsy platform under his feet, Nature's casual reminder that it was a far greater force than gravity.

Jack felt tiny shifts in the muscles pressed up against his chest, as Ianto's body adjusted to the movement of the surface they stood on, and still there was not so much as a hair's space between them, his own body moving automatically with Ianto's. The swayed in obedience to wind, dancing to possibly the very first music while the storm gathered momentum.

Fat drops of rain splattered Jack's face. Ianto's robe was nicely absorbent though, which meant he could combine getting his face dry with neck nuzzling, with the added bonus of garnering another chuckle from the usually stoic Welshman. Jack considered it quite an achievement to procure a genuine smile, a major victory to extract a laugh.

"It's raining," Jack pointed out plaintively, as the drops began to land faster than he could wipe them away. He abandoned the side of Ianto's neck to seek shelter in his nape instead.

"It's _storming_," Ianto elaborated, turning back to the view of lightning dancing with the waves. "Magnificent, isn't it?"

"Breathtaking," Jack agreed, drawing back only long enough to see the admittedly amazing view before sinking back into Ianto's neck. He hadn't even glanced at the Bay, of course. "Come back inside," he added, his voice rumbling against Ianto's nape. "It's even colder out here than it was all alone in that great big bed."

"You've lived in Wales for a century, Jack," Ianto protested, face still fixed on the spectacle of the night storm. "Surely you aren't still bothered by a bit of rain?"

Jack sighed, loudly, deliberately. The gust of his breath swirled patterns through the hair on the back of Ianto's head - well, those parts that weren't already plastered against his skull. Ianto had been stressing about the need for a haircut for at least a week, but Jack preferred the slight disarray of the extra length, and had applied a great deal of energy to ensuring each appointment ended up cancelled.

"I like rain," Jack answered. "But I like it more when I can watch it from the other side of a window. While I'm warm and dry, and preferably wrapped up in a Welshman. Come back to bed, Ianto. I'm cold and wet and you're to blame for both so it's your responsibility to fix it."

Ianto huffed back at him. "You wouldn't be," he commenced, with exasperation, as he finally began the arduous process of turning around. "If you'd bothered to put on...Oh."

Jack grinned at him. "Rendered you speechless, huh? I'm good. I'm soooo good."

"You _did_ put on your robe," Ianto finished. At which his eyes shifted anywhere that wasn't Jack.

Jack's grin faltered. Yeah, sure, he'd been fairly surprised himself that the concept of having a 'his robe' inIanto's bedroom hadn't sent him fleeing into the darkness. But Ianto was the one who'd put the robe of contention in its place, so he had absolutely no right to be freaked out by the reality of Jack actually wearing the damned thing.

"You'd only have made me go in and get it," Jack pointed out, somewhat weakly.

"Yeah," Ianto agreed. "So I would." His face, damp from the rain, silver from the arcs of lightning, turned sober. "How well you know me," he said softly.

Jack swallowed. Rain battered his face, but this time he hardly felt it. "Yeah," he admitted. "Guess I do."

"Does," Ianto began. "Doesn't it…." He paused, considered, breathed. "Does that bother you?"

"It should," Jack agreed. "But somehow…..No. Not even as much as the rain." He took his own deep breath. "You?"

"Surprisingly little," Ianto answered. The smile that grew on his face mirrored the moon peeking from a gap in the clouds. "And to think I've been staying put all this time only to protect the poor love next door - her blood pressure's high enough without copping an eyeful." Ianto shook his head mock-sadly, while the moonlight caught the twinkle from his eyes. "All that heroic resistance for nothing."

Jack wrapped his arms around Ianto's waist and drew him firmly back through the door, pulling them shut behind him. "Heroism is never wasted," he declared. "And should always be rewarded."

The bed _was_ cold. But not for long. Rain beat uselessly against the closed glass doors, but Jack had left the curtains open so nothing obstructed the moonlight as it gilded Ianto's limbs.

When they woke, cozily entwined, the morning sun painted Jack's skin. Gold, flecked with silver patterns drawn by raindrops clinging to the glass.

The storm had passed over. The world was new.

And so were They.

* * *

**This might be set sometime prior to the infamous 'couple' conversation, because I've always thought Jack's "I hate that word" was a bit too defensive. Or it might be completely OOC... Hope you enjoyed it anyway.**


	27. Love of the common people

_Greetings all, hope you enjoy this latest offering. In my addled brain, it's set just after Freedom Come, Freedom Go, but will hopefully still satisfy if you don't feel like flicking back to read that one._

There was no-one to see the coat swishing dramatically as Jack swept along the hallway. No doors opened to investigate the footsteps pounding along outside their door. Not a single person peeked out to determine the source of the whistling. It was, Jack thought, a good thing. Wasn't it?

Actually, Jack found the lack of reaction equal parts relief and disappointment. He wasn't very good at being ignored, but had to admit this was an improvement on the initial response of doors opening a crack, only to be slammed and locked whenever he or Ianto hove into view.

Nor did he yearn for the stage where the building had decided to extend its collective welcome. Jack had found it disconcerting, even stifling, to have their passage marked by a progression of smiling faces popping out of doorways, accompanied by smiles, greetings or requests for help with such weighty matters as carrying groceries. They'd even been asked to help unblock a drain once, for God's sakes! (Ianto handled that one, without the use of alien gadgetry, even. Jack was terribly impressed and had plans for that plunger….)

No, Jack decided, stopping outside a door identical to every other along the hallway apart from its number, he didn't miss that sort of attention. But something in him, possibly his ego, mourned for the progression of slightly slack jaws, not to mention the lost flirting opportunities.

Something else, something deeper, rejoiced to consider that behind each brass-numbered door, heads had tilted, and then bent back to their interrupted tasks, reassured that there was no danger, especially not now the 'boys from forty-two' were home. Jack liked to think that more than one of them sighed at the thought of the dashing American and his companion – the one whose shoes weren't as noisy but who could've made a fortune modeling suits, if the advertisers liked their models on the slightly dangerous side. As, indeed, who wouldn't?

It was also comforting, in a way too uncomfortable to admit to out loud, that the entire building accepted there was no point sighing over either of them. Especially considering that the frightful old biddy from forty-nine would have the liver out of anyone who set their sights on nice Mr. Jones' _friend_. (It had been _her_ drain. Jack had since accused Ianto of interfering in local politics and received only a mysterious smile in return).

As the key slid into the lock, Jack added the tiny thrill of having 'his' key to 'their' place to the plus side of the mental ledger. After so many years of avoidance, something so commonplace held the allure of the exotic, and he wondered how long it would before he was used to it. Longer than it took the neighbors to become bored with them, hopefully. It'd been a long time coming, this feeling of content at having dived into this particular world again, and hard-earned, considering he'd spent possibly the entire first month seesawing between ecstasy and terror, and was possibly still teetering. Fortunately, Ianto was the patient sort.

It wasn't a lack of patience that had sent Ianto home before Jack tonight. They'd established, at about the time the terror faded and the ecstasy mellowed, that they needed what Jack referred to as 'the chance to miss each other', being formerly unfamiliar with the term, or indeed the concept, of 'personal space.'

The clamor which usually accompanied Ianto preparing dinner greeted Jack as the door opened. He was, Jack deduced, currently 'cleaning while you go', an activity which had previously led Jack to think Ianto was finished and start 'helping'. At which point Ianto had done the tight-lipped thing because something burned while he was searching the countertop for the spatula which Jack had helpfully put in the dishwasher.

Looking back, Jack couldn't quite recall why getting up close and personal with dirty dishes seemed so important at the time. Nowadays, he quite enjoyed watching Ianto doing hard labor at the sink. Possibly all the bending involved with putting the dishes away.

Ianto met him halfway across the kitchen, having abandoned cooking, cleaning and whatever the hell else currently on his agenda, as, Jack couldn't help thinking, was only proper. Bad enough that Jack didn't get doors opening along the hallway to check him out anymore, but to have Ianto delay greeting him in preference to getting the last spot off the fry-pan would be a slight his ego would never recover from.

"Ran the gauntlet?" Ianto asked, when his lips were free for speaking with.

"No gauntlet," Jack answered, trying not to pout.

Ianto nodded wisely. "Mrs. Caldwell had a word at the last tenants' meeting," he explained, sighing at the blank expression which decorated on Jack's face in response. Honestly, the man could remember the name of every alien species he'd ever encountered, but ask him the name of the person who lived at the other end of their floor….and you got this.

Seconds passed. Jack stole a slice of eggplant and munched it with a sublime lack of concern for Ianto's tapping foot.

"The scary fossil from number forty-nine," Ianto elaborated eventually. "And you really have to learn our neighbor's names, Jack, before someone overhears one of your horrible aliases."

Jack smirked with a total lack of repentance. Of course he knew what the lovely old battleaxe was called. Gods, what a woman. He'd have liked to have met her forty years ago, actually. He just liked ruffling Ianto's feathers. They were cute feathers, after all.

Ianto sniffed and turned back to the counter. Jack moved in behind him, hands settling comfortably into place on Ianto's hips. "Whatcha cooking?" he demanded, peering over Ianto's shoulder. "And how much longer before I get to eat it? There was a disturbing lack of Hobnobs in the Hub."

"Only 'cause you ate the whole packet yesterday,' Ianto reproved. "And it's moussaka."

Jack's eyes brightened. It was one of Ianto's best dishes, hence one of Jack's favorites, but given the long and fiddly cooking process involved, moussaka generally failed to happen without benign intervention from the Rift.

"If you're that hungry," Ianto scolded, blocking another snatch at the eggplant. "Stop distracting me so I can finish it."

Jack stole a final kiss and another slice of eggplant, and bore the lightly-fried spoils of victory away to the safety of the couch, resting his treat on a piece of paper towel so as not to drip on the upholstery.

It was only when he tried to toe his boots off that Jack realized he'd already set them beside the door, just below the rack that he'd also apparently hung his coat on.

Coat hung up, boots by the door, consideration for the furniture - Dear Lord, he was so domesticated it ought to be frightening. Well, it _had_ been, to Ianto as well, and_ that_ was a conversation he didn't want to have to live through again in a hurry. Still, looking back, as Jack seemed to be doing an inordinate amount of tonight; he couldn't help feeling glad that they'd had to work through it, after all. However awkward.

Because it meant that, at moments like this, Jack no longer asked himself why the hell he was doing the domestic thing again. Not just doing, but delighting in it, not that he'd ever say that out loud.

Nor, at the other end of the pendulum, did he bludgeon himself for waiting so long. Jack had every reason to be cautious, based on way too much experience. There was a shitload of pain waiting at the end of this, however long it lasted, and it was self-preservation that had kept him dodging.

On balance, though, there was this, or living without this. Living without Ianto, and Jack had enough of that on the Valiant, thank you very much. Maybe it came down to choosing between regrets, but he'd rather wear the pain of regret for a risk taken, rather than for one he hadn't.

On balance, Jack concluded that he didn't much mind being 'one of the boys from forty-two'.

At least, not as long as the other one was Ianto.

_Thank you for reading. _


	28. All through the night

**It's been a while, sorry about that. This snippet doesn't relate to any of the others in this little collection. Early, uncertain Ianto, probably early S2.**

* * *

Ianto woke suddenly as the pillow shifted beneath him. He bolted upright, perplexed that he seemed mostly there already, with dire thoughts of sentient stuffing sparking through his brain, only to feel Jack's hand soothing across his shoulders.

"Sorry," Jack apologized. "Had to move. My arm was going numb." Ianto blinked up, awash in confusion as Jack's mouth curved into a soft smile so very different from his usual grin. "Pity, really. I was gonna carry you to bed and tuck you in like the cute little boy you are right now," Jack continued, still smiling that same smile.

Ianto felt his face heat. This wasn't how the evening was supposed to go. There'd been Weevil hunting, then…erm….Weevil hunting, after which Jack announced the night was still young and so was Ianto and took him to dinner at a dingy restaurant which evidently spent its budget on quality ingredients instead of décor, where they both ate far more than was good for them.

It had been a great night, deserving of a great ending, which was why Ianto had invited Jack in 'for coffee'. Which he'd actually made, so as not to drown in too many clichés in one night, but mostly so he wouldn't fall asleep before the 'main event'. Only apparently that's exactly what he'd done. On Jack's shoulder, no less. Ianto swung his legs to the floor as the blush spread to his neck, and sent a hand groping across the coffee table, hoping he'd had the sense to put his mug down before passing out.

"I caught it," Jack said smugly, pushing the now-cool mug into Ianto's hand.

Ianto brought the mug to his lips. Lukewarm, which was worse than cold, but he drank it anyway to give him time to work out what to say to salvage the evening. "I'm…I'm sorry, Jack," he stammered eventually, having come up blank. "I must have…I guess I was…"

Jack waved a hand dismissively. "Worn out," he said, with enough conceit to start Ianto's eyes rolling, which was much better. Jack rose smoothly and extended a hand. "C'mon then, let's get you to bed."

Now that was more like it, Ianto thought, feeling a sense of the world settling back into its assigned pattern as he let Jack pull him to his feet and lead him towards the bedroom. Jack waiting until he woke up in order to secure another round before he left was far more in line with the general scheme of things than Jack sitting still until he lost feeling in his arm just so Ianto could sleep. Upright. On the sofa. When they were supposed to be…oh, having a witty conversation of some kind to fill the time before Jack could, in fact, instigate the final encounter of the evening and sneak off to the Hub while Ianto slept.

Not that Jack always did the sneaking off part. Sometimes Jack was still there in the morning, unsubtly nudging Ianto awake, or more rarely still asleep beside him. Ianto had put those occasions down to an exceptionally busy day beforehand coupled with the Rift being quiet overnight, which combined to give Jack the option of hanging around to deliver his specialized form of wake up call.

They reached the bedroom without further discussion, with Jack's arm wrapped around Ianto in something part support, part embrace.

Ianto was already in the T-shirt and track pants he customarily wore to bed so he slid beneath the duvet and waited with what he told himself was anticipation, but felt suspiciously like resignation, for Jack to remove one or both garments.

Ianto bit back a yawn as Jack approached, turning it into a smile and stretching instead, because Jack loved watching him stretch, all the while trying to ignore the discomforting awareness that he'd actually welcome an alert that sent Jack off with a kiss and a wink and a promise to make it up to him. Just at the moment, the prospect of more sleep was more alluring than the prospect of more Jack, but Ianto balked at admitting it.

He also balked at admitting, even to himself, that he'd rather pretend enthusiasm than risk Jack taking a rebuff as license to seek a different partner. If he didn't admit it, he wouldn't have to explore why the idea bothered him so much, which it shouldn't. They weren't exclusive. At least, he didn't think so. Not that they'd actually discussed it or anything, but surely that would be another of those labels Jack hated so much.

Ianto often told himself there was nothing wrong with accepting what was offered instead of seeking something more, something deeper. Something that might make him feel treasured instead of convenient. Something like he'd had with Lisa – but he wasn't ready for that anyway. This thing he had with Jack was the ideal compromise. Friendship, not a relationship. All the physical benefits without the risks associated with handing his emotional wellbeing over to someone else. When he _was_ ready for more, Ianto would go looking for someone who wanted that, too. There was absolutely no point in contemplating what it would be like if that person was Jack, because it wouldn't be. When the time came Jack would most likely send him off with a smile and wish him the best of luck. Probably start telling him not to let it drift. And Ianto was fine with that, or he would be.

Amidst all the other thoughts he assured himself he wasn't having, Ianto wondered if you could actually convince yourself you weren't lying to yourself…..and decided that, no, that surely wasn't possible. Which meant he was simply being honest with himself. Knowing his own mind. Or something.

Anyway, it wasn't as though it was a sacrifice going along with Jack's appetites. Far from it. More frequently a delight than a chore, and for goodness sake real couples feigned interest for each other all the time so surely this was no different. No, actually of course it was different – he'd just expended considerable mental effort convincing himself of that, hadn't he?

Oh the hell with it. He was in bed with an intergalactic playboy. There were probably hundreds if not thousands of beings who'd change places with him in a second, and he was going to enjoy it. So there. Ianto ordered his brain to shut the hell up and let his hormones drive for a bit.

Ianto pushed himself into a sitting position and leaned into Jack's arms as they opened, letting his face rest on Jack's neck, not for a second considering that the position meant Jack wouldn't notice when yawned again.

After a brief hug, however, Jack merely pressed a kiss to Ianto's forehead and pulled away. Ianto blinked up at him, frowning vaguely as he concluded that Jack must have noticed that last yawn and reached to pull him back.

Jack caught the flailing hand in his own and lay it gently back down onto the bed. "You need to get some more sleep, Ianto," he said firmly. "It's been a hell of a day and we've got an early start tomorrow if we're going to get to Flat Holm and back before the team trickles in."

Ianto settled obediently back into the mattress and informed himself in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going to watch Jack leave.

Jack bent to tuck the duvet more firmly around Ianto and dropped another kiss onto the top of his head. "I'll be in soon," he said, unleashing a yawn of his own. "I just want to catch the rest of that movie. One of my old favorites and I've never been able to find it on DVD. You don't mind do you?"

Ianto shook his head, partly in response and partly in confusion, and lay blinking at the ceiling.

Jack had left the bedroom door ajar, so Ianto could hear the muted sound of the television, even the clink of a mug scraping along the coffee table as Jack re-settled himself. Jack really was watching the end of his film. It wasn't an excuse to sneak off. He really wasn't leaving.

All of which woke Ianto up far more thoroughly than a dozen caresses. He lay frozen, eyes still fixed unseeingly on the ceiling as he tried to bring order to the blizzard of implications whirling about in his mind.

Jack was staying the night, without the expectation of further sex. Now, or in the morning. There'd be no time, considering they always caught the first ferry. Just the sort of thing liable to shatter those protective illusions he wasn't admitting to, if he wasn't careful.

Ianto was still awake, mind still buzzing, when the television went silent, to be replaced by the sound of running water and the clanking of crockery as Jack washed their mugs.

He was still awake when Jack dropped his clothes into the laundry hamper instead of tucking them back into his duffel or even leaving them on the floor. Ianto watched through half-closed eyes as Jack tugged a drawer open, extracted a pair of boxers and an old white T-shirt and took them with him into the bathroom. The ceiling got another few minutes of intense contemplation while Ianto tried to remember exactly how long Jack had had a drawer in his bedroom.

Or his own spot in the bathroom cabinet. The sounds of smile maintenance drifted under the bathroom door as Jack brushed his teeth with Ianto's spare brush. Well, the one which used to be spare until Jack started using it. But Ianto had found cinnamon flavored floss, too, when he'd always preferred plain himself, and the jars of hair product had been multiplying without the assistance of Ianto's wallet. And he hadn't noticed, or maybe he'd stopped himself from noticing, because hope was something you couldn't afford when you'd lost the love of your life once already.

The bathroom door opened, leaving Jack framed in the doorway, backlit for a moment before he reached up to switch the light off. _Deliberate posing_, Ianto identified, _just in case I'm awake_, and rolled his face into the pillow so Jack wouldn't see him smiling.

He pretended to be asleep when Jack slid in beside him, because there was too much thinking to be done before he could risk saying any of the things bursting to be spoken. And because if Jack knew he was awake things might get physical after all, and the seeds germinating in Ianto's battered heart would never know whether it was safe to flower.

He nearly _fell _asleep when Jack's lips pressed against his hair, lightly, carefully, before the mattress dipped as Jack tucked himself up against Ianto's back with a sigh of content.

He wasn't dreaming when Jack whispered something that sounded suspiciously like the 'L' word and draped an arm carefully around Ianto's waist. The arm was never there in the mornings. Maybe tomorrow it would be. If he was quick enough. If he was brave enough.

If he was brave enough for both of them.

Ianto woke slowly, carefully, with Jack's cheek still resting against his hair, and grabbed hold of the arm around his waist before Jack could notice he was awake and pull it away.

They didn't make the first ferry after all.

**Hope you liked. Thanks for reading!**


	29. Slipping Away

_This starts out as fluffy, ends much less so. It is based just after Sleeper and deals with something which has been bugging me about that episode._

* * *

Jack leaned back in his chair, arms extended behind him, ineffectively attempting to stretch out the day's tension. It could have been worse, he told himself bracingly. So much worse. The Sleeper Cell had been so close to winning. The line between saving the world and losing it had seldom been drawn so fine.

On the other side of his office wall, Beth had been killed, or made her sacrifice. Gwen was convinced it wasa sacrifice, and had gone home to cry on Rhys' shoulder about another one she couldn't save. Jack sighed at his own cynicism. It would be a sad day indeed when Gwen couldn't find a tear to shed for a life lost, and surely it was only right to feel worse about those she considered innocent. It was hardly her fault Jack had reached the stage where every loss, innocent or otherwise, lay equally heavy on his already overburdened conscience.

Jack shrugged it all away, to the hidden spaces in his mind where such matters lived, then rose from his chair, ignoring the protests of muscles still tension-tight. He would deal with it. He always did. And this time, unlike so often in the past, he had someone to help. Because also on the other side of that wall was the current cure for all of Jack's ills. A smile crept onto his lips and stayed there as he spied Ianto, poised on the frankly disgusting old couch, waiting. Waiting for him. The strain in Jack's muscles began to leach away, replaced by a far more pleasant source of tension. Unless he was terribly mistaken, this was date night.

It occurred to Jack that perhaps he wasn't so different from Gwen after all. He was certainly relying on a night of Ianto's company to chase his own demons back into hiding. Even the prospect raised his spirits. It would, he thought, be entirely inappropriate to whistle as he made his way over.

But Jack loved this stage, he really did. Early days, not quite the beginning with all its uncertainties, but _this_ bit, this particular phase where you stopped being on your best behavior, stopped trying to impress, stopped making any and every effort not to offend. When you trotted out the_ real_ you, the one you kept hidden but really, deep down where you lived, wanted to show, and needed the other person to accept if the thing between you was ever to grow legs. And if it went well - which this had so far and showed no signs of disintegrating - you found that you quite liked each other regardless.

The Ianto whom Jack was discovering beneath the surface polish was damned cheeky, with a wicked sense of humor to back it up, taking an almost obscene joy in tripping the Captain up. Which was kind of handy, because the Jack beneath the Captain facade, hell, sometimes he wanted nothing more than to be able to trip, to fall, safe in the knowledge that he had someone he could trust to catch him, patch him up and prop him up so no-one else knew it'd happened.

Given today, indications were good that Ianto liked what he'd found, too. And he'd pushed, Ianto had. Teasing, showing his hand, flaunting the power Jack had given him – and then proving to Jack he could hold it safely. Backing down at a simple throat clearing, saying, if you understood the language, _I could have, but I didn't. I won't._

On the down side, it appeared that at some point Ianto had taken steps to ensure that Gwen of all people knew exactly which lines had already been crossed. There might be just a touch of territory marking involved, which Jack really ought to say something about, just on principle. On the other hand, it had been done skillfully, tactfully, _involving_ Gwen rather than ousting her, so on balance Jack thought he could live with it. He might even, just a tiny little bit - not that he'd ever admit it because it was an outdated, quaint little 21st century thing - not totally disapprove. At a low point, and no doubt there'd be plenty of them, Jack might actually hug to himself the knowledge that someone thought he was too good to share.

Jack closed his terminal down, checked his hair in a pocket mirror, brushed a speck of lint – or something less innocuous, but he was going with lint - off his clothes, and sauntered out to join his lover, anticipation buzzing from his toes up. Jack needed to forget today, needed to remember there was_ better_ than today.

Jack needed Ianto and today might be the day he admitted it to someone other than himself.

-XXX-

Ianto didn't look up as Jack approached, which wasn't unusual enough to ring any alarm bells. They were tuned to the sound of each other's footsteps; a talent pleasantly honed by hours of naked hide and seek, something which might not be off the cards tonight, if Ianto was agreeable. Though, given the events of the day, Jack wouldn't blame him for wanting to get out of the Hub. A tiny cloud of dust erupted from the couch cushions as Jack dropped into place beside Ianto and flung an arm around the younger man's shoulders.

Ianto's entire body flinched, his head snapping up to reveal a quickly hidden expression of guilt. Jack's brow furrowed, every delayed alarm clamoring. Ianto hadn't just been sitting there letting Jack appreciate him. He'd not known anyone was beside him.

Ianto offered a smile of apology that would have been breathtaking if the eyes above it weren't so clouded. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Miles away."

"I noticed," Jack agreed. He ran a hand lightly along Ianto's thigh, offering a distraction, an opportunity to brush it off and lose the day's miseries in a much more enjoyable pastime. Otherwise things were going to have to get serious, and serious wasn't on Jack's preferred agenda for the evening.

"You're gonna give me a complex if you start finding me this resistible," he added teasingly, fingers tracing a pattern on Ianto's trouser leg which he only later recognised as the text of a Boeshanian endearment.

Ianto gave an exasperated huff of laughter. "Can't have that, can we?" he asked, finally turning to Jack. It was nearly perfect, Jack thought, looking fondly into the face tilted towards his, lips parted in an unvoiced offer. Nearly perfect, except for the tension in the muscles beneath his hands, the painfully contrived smile which hadn't done a thing to lighten the shadows in the pale blue eyes.

Jack sighed, allowing himself a moment's indulgence in those soft lips, the warm embrace, before drawing Ianto into an uncharacteristically sexless hug. He himself could ignore the fallout of today, bury it safely away in the corners of his mind, but Ianto hadn't learnt the knack of it yet, and thank all the gods for that.

"What's wrong, Ianto?" he asked, barking out his own mirthless laugh immediately after. "I mean, what's more wrong than usual?"

"Doesn't matter," Ianto answered, tucking his head into Jack's chest in a move Jack immediately identified as 'hiding.' Regardless of what it was doing to Jack's insides, the gesture was so out of character that he couldn't interpret it as anything other than an invitation to persist.

"Oh, Ianto," Jack murmured. "Nice try, and I mean that in every way possible, but you're usually more convincing than this."

"Stupid," Ianto muttered, his breath ruffling Jack's collar. "Just…stupid. Ignore me and it'll be gone by tomorrow."

"But it's there now." Jack ran a hand through the dark hair, watching it sift through his fingers and settle immediately back into place. "So you should tell me anyway and it might be gone before tomorrow."

Ianto drew back with a sigh, just far enough that they could look at each other's faces without going cross-eyed while still remaining within the circle of Jack's arms. "Considering I'm supposed to be a fearless alien hunter, I appear to have developed an absurd distaste for killing."

Jack exhaled, gustily, something that might have been a laugh but was far too pained. Obviously Ianto expected him to be surprised by the confession, but Jack had never been in any doubt that Ianto's marked preference for the stun gun had nothing to do with Owen's claims about his lack of accuracy, and everything to do about his dislike of having to kill, anything, or anyone, regardless of the threat they posed. Oh, he could do it all right, and process the paperwork afterwards with barely a tremble in his writing hand, but Jack knew he hated it nonetheless.

Ianto gave Jack hope for the whole human race. Gwen did too, of course, just a bit more – loudly. And once the cog closed, Jack much preferred a bit of serenity. Though he'd prefer a less contrived version.

Jack smiled down at the man in his arms, trying not to look too indulgent. "One of the most appealing things about you," he agreed.

Ianto blinked at him. "You already knew?"

Jack pressed a kiss onto Ianto's forehead. "Of course I knew," he confirmed. "Why else would I have taken that shot at the Blowfish the night I got back?"

Ianto shook his head. "I thought you were showing off," he answered, surprised into candor.

Jack grinned. "Busted. But I was _also _trying to save you having to kill the blowfish."

Ianto gazed at him suspiciously for a moment or two, brow creasing into tiny lines which Jack had to firmly restrain himself from kissing away. "I'm not sure whether I should thank you for being considerate or thump you for sheltering me," Ianto said eventually.

"Thank me," Jack suggested, rubbing a hand across Ianto's neck and frowning at the amount of tension remaining. "But hell, Ianto, do you really think I want you - _any_ of you - to become blasé' about killing? Of course I don't." The smile dropped away from his face. "And it might not have been your bullet that killed Beth. We don't know whose it was."

And they never would. Jack had refused Owen's request to perform an autopsy. He wanted to allow every member of the team to imagine that their bullet wasn't the fatal one. He really didn't know why Owen still argued the point, really. He thought they'd sorted that out after they'd had to kill…..oh…..oh yeah.

Sometimes Jack despaired at his own….thick-ness? Was that even a word? If not, he'd just invented it. On a different level he couldn't help but admire Ianto's diversionary tactics. Well aware of the futility of trying to fob Jack off completely, he'd thrown out a bone in the hope it'd put him off digging for more. And it'd damned near worked.

"Once again, nice try, and much more convincing," Jack said slowly. "But…it's not Beth, is it?"

"It is," Ianto protested, far too quickly, and from the wince that followed he knew it. "Mostly…" Ianto's face dropped into his hands, the sigh of resignation ruffling his hair as it worked its way up around his fingers. "This is a very bad idea," he mumbled. His head rose, looking at Jack with an air of entreaty. "I should go, Jack."

Jack shook his head. "We had a date, remember?" Then frowned. "A movie, wasn't it?"

Ianto sighed. "The last showing started over an hour ago. We might as well just wait for the DVD, don't you think?"

Jack shifted restlessly. Yeah, this happened, too often actually, but it wasn't like Ianto to rub his nose in it when Torchwood interfered with their plans.

"Y'know what?" he said thoughtfully. "Given that you're trying every sort of diversion except the one that might've worked…..I'm thinking not only has this gotta be me, but it's pretty damned big, too…"

Ianto twisted in his arms. "Please, Jack, let it go. I'm just….overtired, I guess. Just let me go home and get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning, yeah?"

That hurt a fair bit more than it should, the assumption that he'd not want to be with Ianto unless there was more than sleep on offer. And he'd thought, he'd really thought, they were getting past that.

Unless it was another diversion. Another good one. Layers of them. Sneaky little….Welshman.

Jack foiled Ianto's attempt to rise by the simple expedient of closing his arms, crushing the young man to him, one hand dropping to circle his waist, the other rising to draw Ianto's head to his shoulder. They'd rested like this countless times, countless nights, but Jack couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that maybe the count was over.

"Tell me, first," he ordered, and regardless of the intimacy of the embrace an order was exactly it was.

"You tried to save her," Ianto muttered, every word chilling even as it sent a puff of warm breath onto Jack's neck. "Beth. And Cerys, too. I remember how hard you tried to save Cerys, and back then, I thought, well I hoped, that maybe…."

Jack remained silent. Within him, every fragment of his earlier anticipation congealed into a lump of dread and adhered itself to his ribs.

"But you didn't," Ianto continued, still into Jack's shoulder, and maybe he was hiding again but Jack was letting him, 'cause he was hiding too. "But I told myself, maybe Cerys was a lapse, a risk you couldn't take again – and I ended up convincing myself, too."

Ianto looked up, traces of despair etching themselves into the corners of his eyes, drawing lines in the fine skin which shouldn't appear for decades yet. Jack wondered whether he'd remembered the man who put the there with fondness or hatred – or at all.

"But today," Ianto continued, "Today you did everything you could for Beth today, as well. Like Cerys. Unlike…"

The hand resting on Ianto's nape froze in the act of clenching and fell away, drifting lingeringly along Ianto's spine as it went, committing every bump and dip to memory.

Ianto sighed shakily, straightened slowly, pushing gently at the enfolding arms until he was clear of Jack's embrace. Jack let one of his dispossessed hands drop to lie between them, in a barely acknowledged hope that Ianto might take it in his own.

Instead, Ianto's hands twisted around each other. Jack watched the pale fingers twine, trying to decipher the exact cause of the weight within his chest. Anger, perhaps. Regret, inevitably. But no, neither, at least not yet. Instead, smoldering guilt. Ianto was holding his _own _hand, being his own support, because evidently Jack hadn't ever really proved he had someone else to lean on. While doing a fairly substantial amount of leaning himself.

You'd think, given a century to practice, he'd be slightly better at this.

Jack looked down at his own hand, still lying forlornly in the space between them. He'd rather leap at a rogue Weevil than reach across the gap, but he took a steadying breath and did it, laying a palm carefully across pale knuckles.

Hope fluttered. It was hard not to let it have its way, when Jack couldn't tell whether the trembling came from Ianto's fist, or the hand he'd wrapped around it. But if this was to end, this budding thing which had so much promise, then it was better it end now. Better to have the 'might have beens' than to contend with the long slow and bitter realization that it never could be.

"You might as well finish," Jack prompted. "Of course, telling me might smash this whole little shooting match we've got going…but whatever it is, whatever you're trying to find an excuse for, I'd rather hear it now, Ianto, than have it thrown back at me when I've got less armor to catch it on."

Brave words. Cold face. Jack wasn't too bad at masks himself. Ianto's had slipped big time, though, or been torn away. Something Jack had always wanted to do and now might never forgive himself for.

"Two women, possessed," Ianto began. His voice echoed oddly across the Hub, words and tone strongly reminiscent of something Bardic. And for all that Jack damn nearly corrected him. The third woman hovered in the air between them, as perhaps she always had, always would.

"One, today," Ianto continued, "Complete with what looked very much like a Cybernetic arm. And you risked us; you risked the world, to save her. To save _them_."

_But not Her_ said the subtext. You could hear subtext, if you tried. If you needed to badly enough. If it _was_ bad enough.

"The world," Jack repeated, rejected, shaking his head. "That's rich. How do you…?"

Ianto raised a hand, summoning silence. His face was strangely set. Determined to speak, for all that he'd insisted he didn't want to explain. Following orders, Jack realised. The good lieutenant, obeying a distasteful command. Jack could have laughed if it didn't hurt so bloody much. Whatever came next, he'd brought it on himself and he hoped it would keep him warm tonight.

"The thing inside Cerys," Ianto said stonily, "had already driven her to kill before we got her into the Hub. And the force controlling Beth already accounted for two that we knew about before we brought_ her_ in."

The words repeated endlessly inside Jack's mind. Possessed. Driven. Controlled. Finally, after all this time, Jack understood why Ianto had never given up. In his mind, Lisa hadn't changed, she was possessed. Imprisoned, not occupied. It explained things Jack had never asked about – but should have.

Ianto's head drooped, his eyes fixed on their hands, now entwined on his knee.

"But when_ they_ got out of the Hub, you still did everything you could to bring them back unharmed, but….." the flood slowed to a trickle. "You set Myfanwy on Lisa rather than let her get out of outside."

She might have heard her name uttered, in the intonation she likely loved as much as Jack did. As Myfanwy called again, giving voice to ancient regrets, emphasizing new ones, Ianto's hands twitched within Jack's. Jack understood the shudder this time, though he couldn't remember exactly when it had begun. Tonight, or _that_ night? Memories smudged across the canvas of his mind, images of the leathery avian taking fish from Ianto's hand, back at the beginning. Try as he might, Jack couldn't pick exactly when she'd learned to eat from a bucket instead. Though he suspected he knew, now. He wished he'd noticed, then.

Jack's thumb ran idly over Ianto's knuckles. It was comforting to them both that neither pulled away. Small comfort. Brief comfort. It wasn't over yet, but it might be, soon. And again, better now than later. "And the point is?" Jack prompted woodenly.

"I keep asking myself," Ianto replied, his voice equally flat, all emotion carefully quashed. "Why them, not her? What made them worth your compassion and not…..not Lisa? And I can't come up with anything, except…"

Ianto paused at that, and raised his head, facing Jack squarely for the first time that evening. Only proper, because every warrior knew that when it came to the killing blow, a worthy opponent deserved to be looked in the eyes when you did it. "All I come up with is…...because Gwen asked."

Everything blurred, just for a moment, and Jack found himself slumped on the couch, hand entwined around nothing, and the sound of the cog alarm echoing in his ears.

* * *

_Of course I won't leave it like that. Part 2 tentatively titled 'Walk Right Back' is in the works. Thank you for reading._


	30. Wallk Right Back

_Some of you have been gracious enough to tell me you were waiting for the continuation of the previous piece of this collection, so here it is, with my thanks for your encouragement, and my apologies if it doesn't seem to go quite far enough. (Excuses at the end...)  
Hope you enjoy._

* * *

Ianto sighed heavily as he paused to lock the door of the tourism office, uncomfortably aware of eyes burning into the back of his neck. He wanted nothing more than to scurry home, to retreat to his one remaining haven to lick his invisible wounds – both new and newly opened, but he couldn't ignore the insistence of senses honed by too many threats in the dark.

A casual-yet-thorough scan of the Plass revealed nothing, so with a resigned sigh Ianto squinted determinedly at the spot which actively repelled examination. It took a moment or two for his brain to pierce the fog induced by the perception filter, hampered as it was by his reluctance to find a reason to remain, but eventually his vision cleared, and there was Jack. Lurking on the stone with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, in a pose that strove to appear relaxed. Watching. Waiting. Something inside Ianto lurched, but with relief or trepidation he couldn't have said.

No threat then, just a lurking immortal, and yet Ianto hesitated, battling the temptation to walk away with the face-saving excuse that he'd not made the effort to look beyond the veil. Too tired or too sure Jack wouldn't have bothered. Either could have been true, had he felt less guilt for allowing Jack to rile him into speaking what was far better left unsaid.

Either excuse would serve equally well as a salve for Jack's pride if Ianto turned away now, which was likely the driving force behind the insufferable immortal's decision to linger within the shield of the filter. Not that Ianto could blame him, being so close to seizing a similar escape for himself. But to do so could only widen the gulf which had opened between them tonight, and it was that which kept him fiddling with the already locked door.

When the door was finally, comprehensively secure, when there was no excuse left to linger, Ianto straightened his shoulders and turned to face the figure standing squarely in the centre of the stone. Their eyes met, locked. Having removed any possible trace of doubt, Ianto raised a hand in acknowledgement, taking guilty yet definite satisfaction in having thrown the onus back on Jack.

For an endless moment, neither moved. Then an odd smile broke over Jack's face, a matching rueful quirk twisted Ianto's lips, and almost in perfect sync they took a step, towards instead of away.

They met somewhere halfway, side by side yet further apart than they'd been for weeks, looking out at the bay to avoid looking at each other. Beyond the railings clenched within their fists, waves crashed, gulls screamed after fish, making quite sufficient noise to drown out speech, excuse enough for the silence neither was ready to break.

"It wasn't because Gwen asked," Jack said eventually, when the birds were either full-beaked or defeated. "It was because Beth did. And Carys. _They_ asked for help, Ianto."

Ianto turned his head, just his head. Moonlight leeched the color from his eyes, leaving them silver steel. Steel. Jack barely controlled a shudder. Aged wood protested faintly as the hand which still clutched it clenched.

"_They_ asked Gwen," Ianto clarified. "Lisa asked _me_." His head turned back to the ocean again, eyes locking on the silvered waves.

Jack shuffled his feet, battling the impulse to shift closer, to wrap this infuriating man in his arms and squeeze the thoughts out of him. Or render him incapable of thought, which was far more appealing, however less noble.

"So_ is _this a Gwen thing?" Jack asked hesitantly, well aware this could be phrase that mended or tore beyond repair. "Or a Lisa thing?"he finished, bracing himself for the outburst.

Ianto, however, merely looked at him for another endless moment, brows creased in thought. "What it comes down to, Jack," he said finally, with resignation rather than bitterness. "Is that it _could_ be either. Or both."

Jack scuffed the floor with a foot. Accusations he was proof against, but this was an admission as well. "I didn't think it was such a big deal," he muttered, annoyed by the defensive note in his voice.

"It wasn't," Ianto agreed, somewhat placidly, as though he already knew where this was going and was waiting for Jack to catch up. "Before."

Ah. Before. They'd both known, before. They'd both accepted, before, without a word, and with something akin to relief, drowning the yearning for one they couldn't have in the distraction of each other.

But that _was_ before. Before leaving, and coming back, for him, for all of them. Before dating. Before waking up curled around each other after a lazy evening in front of the television, of the kind Jack hadn't experienced since he could hardly remember when. Their separate yearnings might not be extinguished, might always flicker somewhere on the edge of consciousness, more instinct that awareness, but that didn't matter to Jack, then or now. Or ever. Not in comparison to the _mutual_ yearning, which could be so …..so damned magnificent, if one of them wasn't indoctrinated with the whole one-true-love fairytale forever concept.

"I deserve better than second choice, Jack," Ianto added quietly. "And so do you."

"It's not like that," Jack snapped, stung, then heard the echoes of his own voice and dropped his tone to something closer to pleading. "I don't see it like that, Ianto."

A weak response, but the truth for all that, which ought to give it some weight, but wouldn't. The chasm between his century and this had seldom felt so unbridgeable.

"And I can't see it any other way," Ianto responded, vowels dull.

True as well. Jack sighed. A sigh of regret for all the missed opportunities, all those times when he could have explained, or tried to, and at least then Ianto would have the theory if not the belief. But tonight…. now…this was hardly the time to introduce the concept of multiple first choices. Not if he wanted it to come across as anything other than a desperate excuse from an invented morality.

Even now, neither seemed able to take the step away, apart. The space between seemed to vibrate, as though, Jack thought fancifully, they were a pair of magnets. Only at the moment they seemed to be set on repelling instead of attracting.

"I suppose it's all for the best, then, tonight," Ianto offered eventually, to the night sky and the sea, because a brief glance at Jack had shown the dark head hung in defeat and it opened up a whole new layer of hurt knowing _he'd_ done that. "I mean, like you said," Ianto added hastily. "Better we found out sooner than later. At least we've still got a shot at staying friends, huh?"

Jack would have fought it if he could, but he couldn't escape that Ianto was merely echoing his thoughts from earlier in the Hub. If it had to happen, better it happened now. "Friends," he agreed dully. If he couldn't have this amazing man in his bed, he'd settle for by his side. It would be enough. Eventually. Or maybe he was just the kind who liked to have his scars somewhere he could prod at them, and it had to be mental scars, now, since he didn't get to keep the physical ones.

Or perhaps, just perhaps, this was the both of them leaving the door open just a crack. Just in case, one day, one of them might be brave enough to walk back through it. Yes. That. "Friends," Jack repeated, more firmly. "Yeah, I'd like that."

-XXX-

The worst part, Jack decided, as the days dragged into weeks, was how awkward it _wasn't_. Ianto was far too professional to let whatever what or wasn't between them affect his behavior at work, so instead of the gaping absence he'd braced himself for, the presence Jack had come to rely on was still there at his side, calm and efficient and _friendly_. If anything, Jack realised, with an ever-growing hopeless ache, Ianto seemed _less_ self-conscious about hovering at Jack's right hand now than he had when drawn there by something sweeter than duty.

Coffee still arrived on Jack's desk seconds before he opened his mouth to ask for it, a bottle of water was pressed into his hand when returned parched from a chase, and his favorite foods still made it onto meal orders without him having to shout across the office. Jack's coat remained mended, laundered, and found its way to its hook regardless of where Jack threw it on his way across the Hub.

But Ianto didn't linger while he drank the coffee, unless there was paperwork to be signed. The water wasn't a sip from Ianto's own bottle, but from a spare he'd taken to carrying, and pizzas weren't a large to share, but two smalls sometimes eaten at different ends of the table.

Jack smiled as he thanked his faithful butler, determinedly showing no trace of how much it hurt when his coat was handed to him instead of held for him. If he no longer had a Welshman to hold him up, his pride would suffice.

But still, they noticed, the rest of the team. They noticed, but they didn't ask. Not even Gwen.

Tosh regarded Jack with eyes too sad to be reproachful and treated him even more gently than usual at work, neatly dividing her compassion by leaving the Hub with Ianto, who no longer lingered after-hours. Another loss that Jack should have expected, but hadn't, until he retreated from the empty Hub and found his bunker equally oversized and echoing with absence.

Owen invited Jack to the pub more often, and was heard to muffle a sardonic snort or six when Jack failed to escort anyone home. Odd how he'd lost the taste for those casual pickups, when he'd so recently been chafing beneath the expectation they'd cease.

Inevitably came the loss he'd been dreading most. Jack gasped back into life, flailing as he often did when the death had been hard-fought, wrapped in arms which might have grounded him if they were only strong enough to contain his unintentional thrashing. A familiar scent tickled his nostrils, something he ought to know, something which ought to soothe but didn't, and inevitably, with a feminine cry of pain, the arms were gone.

Stronger, wool-clad arms wound around his shoulders, his chest, sheltering and secure, and within their circle Jack calmed, settled. He would later flush hotly at the memory of nuzzling into the shelter of a neck bristly with five o'clock shadow, but for now lay he lay quiet, chest heaving as he sucked in the smell of warm damp wool, old coffee and a dozen other elements which combined to evoke all the safest places he'd ever known. When Jack rose to full awareness, the arms had changed again and it was Gwen was beside him. Her perfume wafted into his lungs, the scent he should have recognised but hadn't, her voice murmured reassurances and apologies, and he knew then whose arms hadn't been enough.

Gwen lingered that night, and with a feeling of nothing left to lose Jack contemplated committing the crime for which he'd already been judged and sentenced. Heart thumping with what he tried to convince himself was anticipation; he peered at her from beneath heavy-lidded eyes and asked whether she shouldn't be getting home to Rhys. Gwen smiled, agreed, and urged him to call if he needed her. Then she hugged him, kissed his cheek as a sister would, if he'd ever had one, and went home to her boyfriend.

He should've known. He _had _known. There's no lure to be had from forbidden fruit if it's spread out on a plate for anyone to grab.

-XXX-

When Rhys stumbled into a mission, Jack saw the fear looking out of Gwen's eyes and told himself firmly to be glad he no longer had justifiable cause to endure that particular dread. When Tosh made a too-obvious comment about the possible benefits of in-house dating, Jack's eyes met Ianto's, exchanging a glance that should have been rueful, that might have acknowledged the wisdom of their choice, but achieved neither.

And so it went, and so it might have gone on, but for the warehouse, and the torture and death of a harmless alien possessed by nothing other than human greed.

Without thinking it through, without _letting _himself think it through, Jack locked up the Hub and let his feet follow where his heart led.

* * *

_When I posted 'Slipping Away,' something was telling me I should have set it up as a separate fic instead of part of this collection – and so I should. There was too much story to fit into one drabble, and as it turns out, still too much to fit into two of them. You might of course prefer to decide for yourself what happens when Jack crashes through Ianto's door, but if you're interested in my version, it's in the works. _


	31. In the back row of the movies

_This is just a fluffy snippet that wanted to be written. A 'second date' story.  
__(Sorry if you were expecting the conclusion to the last two chapters. It is nearly finished but proving quite stubborn. Muses are flighty things.)_

_Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

"Plenty of room in the back row," Jack whispered. More like a stage whisper, Ianto considered, given the resulting outbreak of giggles from the huddle of teenage girls clustered mid-cinema.

Ianto delivered the obligatory eye-roll, but he didn't mind really. Jack's behavior on their first date had been almost disturbingly chivalrous, so it was something of a relief to see him revert to type.

Ianto was used to being the one holding coats and doors, the one reaching for the bill before his date had a chance to make even a token protest. Having all that and more aimed _at_ him instead of _by_ him was just a smidgen unsettling, even if it had Ianto battling whole flocks of butterflies in his gut at the effort Jack was making to impress. As though he needed to. As though he _wanted_ to.

They settled down midway along the row, shed coats into unoccupied seats, sorted out popcorn and watered-down colas within reach, and then proceeded to exchange conspiratorial grins when Jack extracted both of their mobile phones and pointedly powered them down.

Tosh could find them anyway, of course, but it was the type of gesture that recalled the butterflies of the first date. Ianto hoped this was a good movie, because there was a distinct possibility he'd actually be watching it all the way through.

"Hey," Jack announced, once more in that carrying stage whisper. "The arms on these chairs fold back, look! It's practically sleeper-seating!"

Then again, maybe not. Ianto held the bucket of popcorn and both plastic drink cups with heated cheeks and resignation while Jack gleefully cleared not just one armrest, but several. The giggling from the girls several rows in front of them reached a new peak, punctuated by wide-eyed backward glances.

Ianto wasn't sure whether to sink down as low as possible or join in the laughter. He settled for sitting back and dealing with the odd tightness in his chest when Jack stretched out along the space he'd made and …..lay his head on Ianto's shoulder.

"OK?" he murmured, sending a puff of air along Ianto's collar bones.

Ianto pondered his decision not to wear a tie tonight, concluded it had been a good choice, and cleared his throat. "Yeah," he agreed. The position Jack had chosen meant that Ianto's left arm and Jack's right were pretty much pinned to the back of the seat by Jack's body. It left one hand free, sure, but the whole thing announced more loudly than words that it was snuggling on the agenda rather than groping.

It kind of made Ianto's head spin. Just a bit. In a good way.

The movie started. The giggles quieted as the girls became engrossed in the action in front of them rather than behind. Ianto glanced down at one point – planning to exchange a pained smile at the blatant astronomical inaccuracy enacted on the screen- and forget what he'd intended to say at the sight of Jack staring at his face instead of the movie.

"What?" Ianto demanded, in a proper whisper, one that wouldn't carry. Heads didn't turn.

Except Jack's, which swiveled hurriedly towards the screen. "Nothing," he muttered. "Just looking. Do you reckon they had a science advisor at all, or just made it up as they went along?"

Ianto wiped the salt from the popcorn off onto his jeans and gently grasped Jack's chin, turning it back towards him. "Looking at what?" he persisted quietly. "What's wrong, Jack?"

Jack squirmed. "You'll laugh," he warned.

Ianto's grip didn't change. There was the muted sound of a foot tapping on carpet.

Jack sighed. "It was…..I just…..when I was away…..there were times when I thought I'd never see you again," he explained, in a low tone that showed he really did know how to stop his voice from carrying.

Jack's lips were right there, closed into a stubborn line, so Ianto kissed them. Softly, sweetly, strictly in line with the tone of the evening, not even delving deeply enough to get past the taste of butter and salt.

When they settled back to watch the movie, Ianto had an arm wrapped around Jack's shoulder, twining beneath his elbow with his hand coming to rest somewhere on Jack's ribs. Snuggling was definitely on the agenda tonight, and Ianto found he didn't give a damn whether it progressed further. Who cared, really? They'd_ done_ that. This was new territory. And _that_, if they ever got back to it, would be freshly uncharted just by virtue of approaching from a different direction.

Oddly, alarmingly, Ianto felt as though he might cry any second.

"Jack?" he whispered, around the lump in this throat.

"Hmmm?"

"I'm glad you came back for me."

Jack's head twisted, Ianto felt a lightning-swift brush of lips across his neck. "So am I."

_Thank you for reading._


	32. Twist of fate

**Here it is, finally, the sequel and conclusion to Slipping Away and Walk Right Back. So very sorry to have kept you waiting so long. For some reason this has been very difficult to write. **  
**Thank you to everyone who has been so encouraging. I appreciate all your comments.**

_This is set at the end of Meat, because that episode nags me like a sore tooth, and I thought it might bother me less if they weren't together at the time._

* * *

Ianto dropped wearily into his armchair, letting his body sink into its comfort while the events of another traumatic day sank into his mind. He thought about getting something to drink. He thought about having something to eat first but dismissed it as too much effort. Takeaway wasn't an option until they had some way of ensuring that it hadn't been sourced from today's lost refugee and he simply couldn't be stuffed cooking for himself. He thought about anything except how much he wanted Jack beside him, even now, weeks since they'd backed away from the ambiguous 'thing' between them, and fell asleep, battling his unruly thoughts in dreams.

A scraping noise from his doorway brought him awake, only to slump back again seconds later as he identified it as sound of a key turning in the lock. Jack had never offered to return the set handed over rose-colored evening, and between throttled hopes, lingering sentiment and just plain awkwardness Ianto hadn't gotten around to asking for their return. No big deal anyway, he reassured himself, rising stiffly to his feet as the door opened. Most people trust a friend with a spare, and they'd at least managed to salvage that, hadn't they?

Friends, he reminded himself, as the door slid open. Friends. Colleagues. Nothing more, and it was better that way. Better for both of them.

And if he just kept telling himself that, eventually he'd believe it.

-XXX-

When Jack eased the door open, Ianto was leaning against the wall in the entryway, brow arched and foot tapping. He looked tired, Jack thought, trying a smile and finding that it wouldn't stick. Tired and yet on edge. Weary, and wary.

"If this is an alert," Ianto said, before Jack could begin to explain himself, "then Owen should have told you, I'm ..…"

"On medical suspension until at least 9am tomorrow," Jack finished, waving a dismissive hand and finding a smile after all. "See, Owen _did _tell me, shocking as it is to find that he's actually followed protocol for once."

Ianto smiled back, the butler smile which Jack had grown to hate, at least when he was on the receiving end. That quirk of the lips which did nothing to lift the shadows from the eyes above them. Jack's own grin slipped away again and he straightened from where he'd been copying Ianto's pose, slouched against a wall. "So, No, I'm not here for an alert," he continued, voice abominably unsteady. "I'm here for you, Ianto."

Ianto's eyelids flickered, and if Jack had expected, if he'd hoped, that the uncharacteristic admission would cause a crack in the efficient wall Ianto had constructed, then he was right. Except that it wasn't the sort he'd wanted to achieve, not by a long shot.

Far from falling into his arms, Ianto took a hasty step backwards instead, raising his chin and cloaking himself in his habitual veneer of dignity. "You can't do this anymore, Jack," he said calmly. Too calmly for Jack's taste right now. The sort of calm which cut through chaos, trailing silence in its wake. Invaluable when used in Torchwood's interest, it never failed to rouse Jack's inner smartass when projected in his specific direction.

Arching a brow of his own, Jack raised the key still dangling on its chain from his finger. "Soooo - should I go back out and knock instead?"

Ianto sighed. "This is probably exactly what I deserve for thinking you could recognise a boundary without a map and GPS narrative," he muttered.

This was a bit more like it, Jack thought, stifling an inappropriate surge of satisfaction. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the door. "I'm hoping you're in the mood to expand on that," he drawled. "Because you have to admit, cryptic hasn't been working for us lately."

_Us. _Ianto inhaled heavily. It _had_ felt like _Us_ again, just for a moment there, and it was taking far too long to remember that wasn't what he wanted. He gave himself a firm mental shake and released the breath he'd apparently been holding. "Fine, then, Jack. Maybe it _is_ better if I spell it out for you."

Ianto straightened his sagging spine, both physically and emotionally, and hoped his voice would be steadier than his resolve. "You are, and always will be, welcome to drop by, key or no key. But what you can't do, Jack, not anymore, and God knows why I ever put up with it in the first place, is come sniffing round here after Gwen's rejected you, expecting me to stroke your….ego, or anything else."

Jack blinked, evidently too stunned to be offended. "I've never done that," he protested, frowning. "I'm sure I haven't."

Ianto ran a hand through already disordered hair, more thrown by the confusion than he would have been by anger. "Perhaps not intentionally," he conceded. "And I have to take part of the blame for letting it happen – but no more, Jack, so if that's what you're here for, please just…..just leave."

Jack shook his head, taking a sliver of hope from the way Ianto's voice had wavered at the end. "Not here for that, and not leaving," he clarified, then heaved in a deep breath of his own. "And _I_ have to take the blame for not making it clear long ago, but it never was _just_ for that, no matter what you've convinced yourself."

The seconds dragged on, each man waiting for the other to point the way through the confusion. Jack could feel the years stretching between them, the century-wide gulf of misunderstandings which he should have cleared up months ago.

"Gwen," he repeated thoughtfully. "Odd how it always seems to come back to Gwen, isn't it?"

Ianto gave an odd bark of laughter. "Isn't it just?" he agreed.

Jack straightened, stung enough by the sarcasm to accept that he could hardly make things worse. "Gwen chose Rhys over Torchwood tonight," he stated, watching Ianto through narrowed eyes. "Just as she always does, as she always will, and whatever you seem to think, I'm good with that. Same as _you'll_ always choose Lisa, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm good with that, too."

Ianto's head shot up, blatant confusion running rampant on his face. It might not be the expression Jack had hoped to inspire, but it was still the most honest reaction he'd shown the entire evening.

"And it would appear," Jack continued, somewhat ruefully, "That I've fallen into the habit of choosing you."

Ianto bit his lip. That was good. That was definitely good. Encouraged, Jack hurried on before he lost his nerve. "So today I watched someone hold a gun to your head," he continued intensely. "I wanted to rip his arms off you, hell, rip 'em off _him_ altogether and bake them into one of his own God-damned pies, and that was _before_ he pulled the trigger."

Ianto licked the lip he'd just bitten. Jack's heart did something anatomically improbable. "I think that was when it hit me," he continued, "that you weren't mine to choose anymore." He raised his shoulders and dropped them again in a helpless shrug. "And I didn't like the way that felt," he finished. "I really didn't, Ianto."

There was silence again. Jack shifted on his feet. Maybe he hadn't found the right words. Or maybe he'd said them too late.

Ianto cleared his throat. "I supposed you'd better come in then," he said quietly, and took himself out of the doorway.

-XXX-

The sofa had borne their combined weight countless times, but this was possibly the first time they'd chosen different ends to perch on instead of being sprawled together in the middle.

It felt wrong in a way that Ianto didn't have the energy to analyse, beyond a vague sense of gratitude that Jack had chosen to respect his need for space. And the sense of being annoyed at feeling grateful. Neither of which helped the resolve which had been splintering since the second he'd heard Jack's key in the door.

Nor did it help that the vast majority of his long-held grievances were currently lying in metaphorical shards around his feet. Yes, he'd chosen Lisa again and again, for love and loyalty, in betrayal and illusion, and he'd faced Jack after with his head held high, feeling wronged and righteous every time.

Only he hadn't expected Jack to be _good _with it, anymore than he'd been happy about the repeated demonstrations of what he'd considered Jack's preference for Gwen.

But they weren't in the same league, surely?

Apparently Jack thought so.

Ianto didn't feel quite so righteous anymore.

-XXX-

Jack sank into his corner of the sofa, watching Ianto from the corner of his eye. The silence was beginning to grow prickles again. Ianto, however, seemed in no hurry to break it. Jack spent a few restless minutes weighing up whether it was better to let Ianto process whatever it was he was churning over in his mind against the risk of having the stubborn Welshman use the interval to rebuild the walls he'd been hiding behind all these weeks.

Impatience won. Jack turned so that he was facing Ianto more directly. "So, how bad is it?" he asked crisply.

Ianto blinked at him. Jack was sorely tempted to roll his eyes. "You're on medical leave," he prompted. "Owen doesn't do that on a whim. So, what are we dealing with here? And why did he send you home at all?"

Ianto burrowed more deeply into his corner, tucking his hands under his arms as he went. "It's nothing to worry about, really," he protested. "Just a few lacerations from working free of those ropes. Owen treated it already."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "And yet Owen _is_ back at the Hub cleaning up after himself," he said. "That's a whole new level of severity, right there."

Ianto's lips twitched. Jack saw them, and damn it, he'd gotten less of a buzz from spotting a Weevil before it leapt. He extended both hands, palms up, and was pleased to note they weren't actually shaking in anticipation. "So hand 'em over," he urged.

Ianto rolled his eyes. Jack smiled, the first smile that had come naturally since he'd stepped into the flat, but his hands remained implacably extended, fingers flexing in invitation.

With an exaggerated sigh of resignation, Ianto reached across the expanse of upholstery between them, letting his hands slip free of the sleeve cuffs which hung unbuttoned around his wrists. Jack cradled the pale wrists within his palms, the touch familiar and newly awkward. With one accord, their eyes dropped to where an opaque dressing covered skin closer to the pink of mild sunburn than the lacerations left behind by struggling against poor quality rope.

"Looks good," Jack said softly, making no move to release the pale limbs resting within his own.

"Told you so," Ianto muttered, wriggling his fingers until Jack's grip loosened. "They weren't that bad to begin with, and Owen insisted on having a go at them with his cellular regenerator," he continued, shrugging. "And I let him because…well, I think he might have been trying to keep himself busy. It hit him hard, having to euthanize that poor creature today."

Jack merely nodded, his eyes fixed on the hands now twisting in Ianto's lap. He couldn't have given himself a better opening if he'd scripted it himself. This was his chance to say what he hadn't had the words or the courage for when they'd faced each other on the Plass. Besides, he could hardly make things worse between them, after all. Could he?

Of course he could. On the other hand, he could make them so much better. Better than before, even. Worth the risk. Maybe worth any risk.

Ianto fidgeted on the other end of the sofa. Jack swallowed against a dry throat. He knew he wasn't doing himself any favors letting the silence stretch out again, but so much depended on what he said next that it was an effort to push the words past his lips.

Jack raised his head just in time to see Ianto's drop. "Sometimes," he said deliberately, feeling his pulse hammer in this throat. "They're just too far gone to be saved."

The words hung between them, a lifeline tossed out and waiting to be grasped.

Ianto looked up slowly, eyes narrowing. "We aren't talking about the space whale anymore, are we?"

Jack bit his lip, scrounging for the right words and wondering if he'd ever find them. "The space whale," he said. "But Beth, too." He swallowed. "And Suzie. And yeah, Lisa as well. All of them. All the ones I couldn't save. _Couldn't _save, Ianto, not wouldn't."

Ianto sat silent and still. Thoughtful. A good sign. Progress. Jack heaved in a breath. "That night," he said slowly. "After Beth. You asked me why I tried to help her, and Carys, and you accused me of only making the effort 'cause Gwen asked."

Ianto shifted uneasily. He'd hardly needed the clarification. He'd replayed 'that night' over in his head so many times, trying to make it come out differently. And failing.

"Do you still expect me to believe me she wasn't a factor?" Ianto asked finally, unable to hide the bitterness as today's events insisted on marching through his mind, ticking imaginary boxes as they went. Proof enough, surely, that what Gwen wanted, Jack would break not only rules but whatever else got in the way to get for her.

Jack watched the shutters rising and felt irritation prickle through him along with creeping fear that nothing would be enough. "I told you then, and I'll say it again now, because obviously it didn't take, _it had nothing to do with Gwen_," he retorted. He heard his voice rise in volume and didn't do a thing to steady it. This little bit of irrationality felt damned good, after all these weeks of cool, calm, _polite, reasonable_. "It was because _Beth_ asked for help, Ianto. Carys too. _They_ wanted to be saved, _they_ asked for help, and that's proof enough for me that there's something left to work with."

Ianto's mouth opened.

"Suzie didn't ask," Jack ploughed on, satisfied when Ianto's mouth closed into thoughtful lines immediately. "_Suzie_ threatened."

"She threatened Gwen," Ianto pointed out mildly.

Jack huffed out a sigh. "She threatened one of my team," he corrected. "And if you honestly believe I'd have reacted any differently if she'd grabbed anyone else then I really am wasting my breath here."

Ianto's mouth twitched again. "No-one else would have gone with her," he pointed out.

Jack risked a smile. Just a little, wry one. Just a hint of agreement.

"Jasmine didn't ask either," he added, after a pause.

"Jasmine," Ianto repeated thoughtfully. "I'd forgotten about Jasmine."

"Gwen asked me to save _her_, too," Jack added significantly. "But _Jasmine_ didn't want to be saved, Ianto, and in the end, that's what counts the most."

In the silence that followed Jack could have sworn he heard the tinkle of barriers breaking.

"Lisa wanted to be saved," Ianto said softly. "She did, Jack. Starting from the moment I found her…" His voice choked off.

"I don't doubt that for a second," Jack agreed gently, fighting both the knot in his throat and the urge to pull Ianto into his arms. "But tell me, Ianto, what did she want when _I_ found her?"

"She wanted to be with me," Ianto mumbled. He curled even deeper into himself, drawing his feet up beneath him, and Jack found himself bridging the space between them before any further stupid doubts had the chance to get in the way. He drew the dark head onto his shoulder and wrapped both arms around the shaking Welshman, feeling an almost painful joy when Ianto's hands twisted into his shirt.

"She did," Jack agreed. "Even right at the end, she wanted to be with you, and please believe me, Ianto, for her to still be _able _to want that shows how hard she fought." It was true, if only partly true, and in any case this wasn't the time to mention that the same woman – creature - had previously thrown Ianto across the Hub and left him to drown. This was the time for comfort and healing. Later would be the time for reflection and evaluation, and as soon as Jack had a foot free he'd kick himself for letting this fester for so long.

"But she didn't just want you to be with her," Jack pointed out instead, carefully, gently. "She wanted you to be _like _her, and I couldn't let that happen." He drew his lips through the soft hair, reveling in the fact that he could, that Ianto wasn't pulling away, that the tense muscles were relaxing against his own. "She was too far gone, Ianto, and I couldn't let her take you with her."

It hurt to draw away, physically hurt, though that might have had something to do with how long he'd stayed motionless, not wanting to so much as twitch a muscle in case Ianto took it as a cue to retreat, but eventually Jack pulled back enough to be able to look the younger man in the eyes, seeing the questions there, the doubts that lingered.

"She was past saving," Jack reiterated.

Ianto nodded, the barest dip of the chin, not even enough to break eye contact.

Jack swallowed. "Are we?"

Ianto tipped his head to the side, drawing his lower lip between his teeth, that outer sign of inner concentration. "Quite likely," he answered eventually.

Jack had been stabbed more times than he could count, but he didn't recall it hurting quite like this. "Ianto, I…," he began, but there truly wasn't anything left to say, and the knot was back in his throat. And nothing would have made it past the finger Ianto laid across his lips anyway.

"So I suppose it's just as well," Ianto said gravely, "that I've never been the sort to let that stop me."

* * *

**Thank you so much for bearing with me. Hope you enjoyed.**


	33. She's got legs

_This little snippet isn't set anywhere in particular, but requires a familiarity with Greeks Bearing Gifts. Hope you enjoy._

* * *

Gwen perched gloomily on the examination table, trying not to twitch while Owen worked on the series of scratches and bites spiralling up both of her legs. Even with his head bent, she could _feel_ the smirk on his face, and her palms itched to slap it off.

When Owen looked up, his face was carefully blank, as though he'd taken warning from the hands clasping the edges of the table. "I'll need to get at the back now," he informed her, in a voice which matched the face but didn't compensate in the slightest for the amusement glittering in his eyes.

Gwen sighed and moved as directed, ending up lying face down on the exam table where no-one would notice if the gathering tears of frustration escaped. Nor would she have to see the pitiful bundle of what used to be her brand-new designer jeans, cut in an oh-so-flattering bootleg, now cut into shreds and lying where they'd fallen when Owen had finally cut through the remains of the waist band.

The worst of it was that Gwen _knew _she ought to be grateful, not angry - or at least _more _grateful than angry. The hilarity was perfectly understandable, after all. She must have looked ridiculous, running around in circles shrieking while those miniscule mousy-looking creatures picked a leg each and swarmed up. Gwen would have laughed too, had it been anyone else, and it was a fair chance that she wouldn't have recovered quickly enough to respond as her team mates did. Well, not _all_ of the team. Tosh was doubled over with laughter and Jack still clinging onto a pole to hold himself upright, when Owen and Ianto sprang into action. Though to be fair, because she _was_ trying to be, Jack _had _grabbed her arm as she ran past, holding her still so that the other men could work on her.

Gwen shuddered. If Owen hadn't been so quick at slashing the jeans off her legs, hands steady despite his shaking shoulders, then Ianto wouldn't have been able to see past his tears of mirth to the scuttling parasites, so as to stun them before they reached their intended destination. Her femoral artery, apparently, whence they would inject their larvae into her bloodstream. Or so Jack explained after Ianto had glared him back into a semblance of composure.

In which case, she'd have far more to be stressed about than ruined jeans, however trendy, however flattering, even if they _had_ accounted for the majority of her last Torchwood pay-check. As it was, Gwen didn't even have to worry about her bum flashing the Hub through the gap in her surgical gown. The mice-lice - as Ianto had dubbed them – were halted midway up her thighs, allowing her the dignity of retaining both T-shirt and underwear. She hadn't even worn a thong today, so there was another blessing to count.

Jack _had_ leered at her lace knickers, which Gwen was desperate enough to consider a positive.

Tosh, though, Gwen thought, as she shifted so Owen could get at the inner side of her calves. Tosh had been _totally_ useless. Jack had had to drag her upright and thump her on the back before she could even stand unassisted. Not that the mice-lice had gotten anywhere near Tosh's skin, no, not so much as a nip.

When Gwen eventually made her way up to the Hub, wearing the spare pair of trousers which Ianto had retrieved from her locker, all eyes were carefully averted. Assuming you didn't count the sideways glances, of course. Behind her, Owen wheezed his repressed mirth into a surgical cabinet, which Gwen was generously prepared to ignore given that he'd refrained from laughing in her face or even making his usual snarky comments while he dressed her wounds.

As Gwen lowered herself carefully into her chair, Ianto placed a coffee on her desk, then moved swiftly to intercept Jack, steering the grinning Captain firmly back towards his office.

Tosh's eyes were fixed on her screen, but she was biting the inside of her cheek, Gwen just knew it. After a few moments of awkward silence, during which Tosh progressed to biting her lip as well, Gwen uttered a sign of resignation.

"Go ahead and say it," she invited wearily. "I know you're dying to. Hell, I would in your place. Just get it out of your system, go on."

Jack's door cracked open. Footsteps creaked on the stairs from the med bay.

Tosh spun to face Gwen. Spun, quite deliberately on her tall chair, swinging legs clad in all their impenetrable denim-and-leather glory.

"Oh sweetheart," Tosh obliged, her voice too gleeful to be truly offensive. "The jeans in the boots thing _has_ really kind of had its day."

Gwen tried to smile, she really did.

"And," Tosh concluded, spinning back to her terminal in a joyous swirl of leather. "It was today."

* * *

_This silly idea pounced on me after reading Aviv B's drabble 'A short introduction to Cooper's rules,' and I was so happy to have the muses ambush me again that I had to post it before they changed their minds._

_Thanks for reading._


End file.
